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AN OUTLINE OF PSYCHOLOGY 



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AN 



OUTLINE OF PSYCHOLOGY 



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BY 



EDWARD BRADFORD TITCHENER 



'//2. ^ ^? i/-& - / 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
1896 



A/^ rights reserved 



1\^ 



Copyright, 1896, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



NortoooB iPrtSB 

J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



PREFACE 

My aim in writing this book has been to present in brief 
outHne and simple form the methods and most important 
results of experimental psychology. The volume contains 
the substance of lectures delivered to second and third 
year classes in the Cornell University, and is designed 
primarily as a text-book for those who attend my lecture 
courses. I hope, however, that its sphere of usefulness 
may extend beyond these limits. 

The plan of the work is analytic. It sets out from the 
consideration of the simplest factors in adult mental expe- 
rience, and endeavours gradually to build up the actual 
mind from the laws of these simple factors and their 
groupings. After a general introduction comes a series 
of four chapters, which deal with the elementary conscious 
functions. A second series discusses those complex men- 
tal processes which are easiest of analysis and lend them- 
selves best to individual treatment. A third series deals 
in part with still more complicated processes, while in part 
it pushes the analysis of previous chapters still further. 
A concluding section surveys the results of the whole 
enquiry, and indicates the point at which psychology 
gives place to metaphysics. 



vi Preface 

The general standpoint of the book is that of the tra- 
ditional English psychology. The system which is out- 
lined in it, however, stands also in the closest relation to 
that presented in the more advanced treatises of the 
German experimental school, Kiilpe's Outlines of Psycho- 
logy and Wundt's Grundzilge der physiologischen Psycho- 
logic . While I have tried to make the present work 
complete in itself, I have also written with the view of 
producing a book which should be preparatory to these 
standard psychologies. At the same time I have not 
attempted to * boil down ' either of the larger works. 
The facts recorded have been gathered from them and 
from many other sources, to which I here make general 
acknowledgment, — all that is permitted by the scope of 
my undertaking. But no statements in the text have 
been taken upon trust, and no experiment is described 
which I have not myself performed. 

The book presupposes, as every psychology must, a 
certain amount of physical and physiological knowledge 
on the part of the reader. I have, however, reduced this 
amount to as small a compass as possible, and do not 
think that any question will arise which cannot be cleared 
up at once by reference to an elementary physical or 
physiological text-book. 

The subject-matter has throughout been broken up into 
sections ; so that if it is desired to employ the book for a 
shorter course than that for which it has been designed, it 
is only necessary to select the more important passages and 
ignore the rest. Thus it is possible to omit §§ 3, 5 ^nd 6 
of Chapter I ; §§ 8 and ii of Chapter II; § 2i and others 



Preface vii 

of Chapter III ; the whole of Chapter IV, etc., as well as 
to curtail the remaining sections by neglecting some of the 
descriptions of method and other supplementary remarks. 
I owe a heavy debt of gratitude to Miss E. B. Talbot, a 
member of my graduate seminary, and to my colleagues, 
Drs. D. Irons and W. B. Pillsbury, for constant advice 
and assistance during the preparation of the work. I have 
further to thank President J. G. Schurman for valuable 
suggestions with regard to the earlier chapters, and Miss 
C. S. Parrish and my wife for help upon many special 
points. The ten figures in the text (some of which are 
adapted from other works) were kindly drawn for me by 
Professor H. D. Williams. 



Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 
June I, 1896. 



CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER I 

The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

PAGE 

§ I. The Beginnings of Psychology ....... i 

§ 2. The Definition of Psychology ....... 3 

§ 3. Mental Process, Consciousness and Mind ..... 9 

§ 4. The Problem of Psychology . . . . . . .12 

§ 5. The Subdivisions of Psychology . . . . . . ■ ^7 

§ 6. External Aids to Psychology . .«,... 21 

PART I 

CHAPTER II 

Sensation as a Conscious Element. The Method of 
Investigating Sensation 



§ 7. The Definition of Sensation . . . . 

§ 8. The Attributes of Sensation . . . . 

§ ,9. The Method of Investigating Sensation 

§ 10. General Rules for the Introspection of Sensation 

§11. The Classification of Sensations . . . . 



26 
29 
32 

37 
42 



CHAPTER III 

The Quality of Sensation 

I. Sensations of Special Sense 
§12. The Quality of Visual Sensations . . . . , . 45 

§ 13. The Quality of Auditory Sensations . . , . ♦ 5° 

ix 



X Contents 

PAGE 

§ 14. The Quality of Olfactory Sensations • • • . • 53 

§15. The Quality of Gustatory Sensations ...... 54 

§16. The Quality of Cutaneous Sensations . . . . . .56 

II. Organic Sensations 

§ 17. The Quality of Muscular, Tendinous and Articular Sensations . 59 

§ 18. The Quality of Alimentary Sensations ..... 62 

§ 19. The Quality of the Circulatory, Respiratory and Sexual Sensations 63 

§ 20. The Quality of the Static Sense . . . . . . .63 

III. Common Sensation 

§ 21. Pain 65 

§ 22. The Total Number of Elementary Sensations .... 66 

CHAPTER IV 

The Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sensation 

§ 23. Intensity, Extent and Duration as Attributes of Sensation . . 68 

§ 24. The Minimal Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sensation . . 70 

§ 25. The Maximal Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sensation . . 74 

§ 26. The Relation of Intensity, Extent and Duration to Quality of 

Sensation .......... 76 

§ 27. Weber's Law 78 

§ 28. Eye Measurement ... . . ... .82 

§ 29. The Time Sense ......... 84 

§ 30. The Meaning of Weber's Law . . . . . . -87 

CHAPTER V 

Affection as a Conscious Element. The Methods of 
Investigating Affection 

§31. The Definition of Affection 92 

§ 32. Affection and Sensation ........ 94 

§33. The Methods of Investigating Affection ..... loi 

§34. The Attributes of Affection . . - . . . .105 



Contents 



XI 



CHAPTER VI 

Conation and Attention 

§ 35. Bodily Tendency and Mental Constitution . 

§ 36. The Question of a Third Conscious Element 

§ 37. Conation ..... 

§ 38. The Nature and Forms of Attention 

§ 39. The Attributes of Attention 

§ 40. The Degree of Attention . 

§ 41. The Duration of Attention 

§ 42. The Range of Attention 



PAGE 

109 
116 
120 
125 
135 
137 
140 

144 



PART II _ 

CHAPTER Vn 

Perception and Idea 

§ 43. Sensation, Perception and Idea ....... 148 

I. Extensive Ideas 

§ 44. Locality or Position . . . . . . . . .154 

§ 45. Form and Magnitude . . . . . , . .163 

§ 46. Extent of Movement . . . . . . . . .168 

II. Temporal Ideas '^ 

§ 47. Rhythm 172 

§48. Rate of Movement . . . . . . . . .174 

III. Qualitative Ideas 

§49. .Clangs 176 

§ 50. Melody 180 

§51. The Function of the Idea 183 



CHAPTER VIII 

The Association of Ideas 

§ 52. The Nature and Forms of Association 

§ 53. Simultaneous Association .... 



188 
191 



Xll 



Contents 



§ 54. Successive Association 
§ 55. The Law of Association 



.^ 



PAGE 
202 
207 



CHAPTER IX 

Feeling and Emotion 



§ 56. The Nature and Forms of Feeling 

§ 57. The Nature of Emotion 

§ 58. The F"orms of Emotion 

§ 59. The Expression of the Emotions 

§ 60. Mood, Passion and Temperament 



213 
219 
221 
224 
230 



CHAPTER X 



Voluntary Movement. The Analysis of Action 



§61. The Nature of Action . . 

§ 62. The Beginnings of Voluntary Action . 

§ 63. The Nature of Impulsive Action 

§ 64. The Place of Impulse in Consciousness 

§65. The Forms of Impulse 

§ 66. Reflex Action ..... 

§ 67. Instinctive Action . . . . 

§ 68. Selective, Volitional and Automatic Action 

§ 69. Inaction . . . . ., . 



234 
238 
240 
244 
246 
248 
250 

254 
258 



PART III 



CHAPTER XI 

Recognition, Memory and Imagination 



§ 70. The Nature of Recognition 

§71. The Forms of Recognition 

§ 72. Recognition and Cognition 

§ 73. The Investigation of Recognition 



261 

263 
266 
268 



Contents 



Xlll 



§ 74. Recognition and Memory . 

§ 75. The Memory-Idea 

§ 76. Retention 

§ 77. Memory and Cognition 

§ 78. The Investigation of Memory 

§ 79. The Nature and Forms of Imagination 

§ 80. Illusions of Recognition and Memory 



CHAPTER XII 

Self-Consciousness and Intellection 
§ 81. Self-Consciousness ..... 



§ 82. Intellection ...... 

§ %'^. The Formation of Concepts 

§ 84. Reasoning ...... 

§ 85. Comparison or Discrimination, and Abstraction 

CHAPTER XIII . 

Sentiment 

§ 86. The Nature of Sentiment . 

§ 87. The Forms of Sentiment . 

§ 88. The ^Esthetic Sentiments . 

§ 89. The Basis of ^Esthetic Sentiment 

§ 90. The Intellectual Sentiments 

§ 91. The Social or Ethical and the Religious Sentiments 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Synthesis of Action. The Reaction Experiment 

§ 92. The Synthesis of Action ...... 

§ 93. The Simple Reaction ...... 

§ 94. The Discrimination Reaction and the Cognition Reaction 

§ 95. The Choice Reaction ...... 

§ 96. The Automatic Reaction . . . 

§ 97. The Function of the Reaction Experiment 

§ 98. The Association Reaction ...,,. 



PAGE 
270 
271 

275 
278 
278 
282 
285 



287 

294 

299 
301 



306 

307 
312 

315 
1^1 



319 
323 
328 

330 
332 

335 



xiv Contents 

CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER XV 

The Ultimate Nature of Mind. Mind and Body. 

PAGE 

§ 99. The Mind of Psychology . 339 

§ 100. Mind and Body , 342 

§ loi. The Mind of Metaphysics 344 

INDEX 347 



AN OUTLINE OF PSYCHOLOGY 



3XKOO- 



INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER I 

The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

§ I. The Beginnings of Psychology. — Knowledge is the 
product of leisure. The members of a very primitive 
society have no time to amass knowledge ; their days 
are fully occupied with the provision of the bare neces- 
sities of life. But as soon as a community begins to 
accumulate wealth, and so becomes able to support a 
leisured class (priests, instructors of rich men's children), 
an opportunity is created for those who desire knowledge 
to devote their lives to its acquirement. 

Out of this ' curiosity to know ' science is born. Men 
look out upon the world, and see that it is full of objects 
which call for investigation. Inanimate nature is made to 
reveal her secrets ; laws are discovered in the fall of the 
stone, the ebb and flow of water, the spread of colours in 
the rainbow : physics, the * mother of the sciences,' has 
arisen. Birds and beasts and fishes have their special 
habits and their special structure, the observation of 
which is the starting-point of zoology. Physics and 
zoology, and indeed all the sciences, find their source 
in analysis. What at first seems simple, is shown by 

B I 



2 TJie Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

careful observation to be compound, and is split up into 
more simple parts ; these, in their turn, into still sim- 
pler ; and so on, — until the science has reached its ele- 
ments, the simplest things or processes which belong to 
it, things and processes which cannot be further reduced 
or more minutely subdivided. 

The first analysis is always analysis of the outward, 
the external. Just as the infant (whose history is the 
history of the human race, epitomised, condensed into 
half-a-dozen years) gets its earliest experiences in the 
form of experiences of the things or objects about it, 
and only after a time attains to self-experience, or comes 
to speak of itself as * I,' so mankind at large, at that 
primitive stage of their development which we are now 
considering, were attracted to the study of nature and 
of natural objects. " The understanding," says Locke, 
— and he might have used a word of wider significance, 
and said the 'mind,' — the understanding or the mind, 
" like the eye, while it makes us see and perceive all 
other things, takes no notice of itself ; and it requires 
art and pains to set it at a distance, and make it its 
own object." 

Let us suppose, however, that this knowledge of nature 
has advanced a certain distance ; that the physicist or 
zoologist has collected a large number of observations and 
arranged them to his satisfaction. It is not to be expected 
that he will henceforth cease to desire knowledge ; for the 
more we know, the more do we wish to know, "as if 
increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on." He 
will rather seek to enlarge the boundaries of his know- 
ledge ; to discover new facts, of a different order from 
those which he has hitherto studied. And at this point 



§§ I, 2. Beginnings and Definition of Psychology 3 

the thought may very well occur to him, How is it that / 
can discover facts at all ? The facts are one thing : he 
himself, who desires to know about the facts, and who is 
able to understand and interpret them, is another. Hence 
he may come to believe that it is worth his while to 
enquire about himself, just as he has been enquiring about 
things. " Art and pains," it is true, are demanded of 
him ; but the art achieved may be judged worth the pains 
to be taken for its achievement. " Whatever be the diffi- 
culties that lie in the way of this enquiry," so Locke goes 
on, " sure I am that all the light we can let in upon our 
own minds, all the acquaintance we can make with our 
own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but 
bring us great advantage." Now when the enquiry has 
been started, when the question has been asked as to the 
difference between oneself and the things outside oneself, 
philosophy has sprung into being, — and with philosophy, 
psychology. 

Psychology, then, is a late development of human 
knowledge ; it does not appear until the sciences of nature 
have made some progress. And these sciences them- 
selves cannot take shape until mankind has attained a 
certain stage of civilisation. 

§ 2. The Definition of Psychology. — Philosophy began 
as a body of reflective knowledge in which no sharp line 
of distinction was drawn between one department of 
thought and another. Yet it contained from the first the 
germs of many sciences which should later be sharply 
separated. To-day we hardly use the general name 
* philosopher * ; we speak of the * logician ' or the * moral- 
ist ' or the * metaphysician ' ; and if we employ the word 
' philosophy,' we think of it as comprising a number of 



4 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

special sciences or disciplines ; ontology, ethics, episte- 
mology, etc. It is with one of the special philosophical 
disciplines — psychology — that we are here concerned. 

Every one knows in a rough way what it is that psy- 
chology deals with. It treats of * mind ' and ' conscious- 
ness,' and of the laws of mind and consciousness. My 
' mind ' is that in me which thinks, understands, reasons, 
chooses, directs my actions. And my ' consciousness ' is 
my inner knowledge of my thought and action : I am 
' conscious ' of the awkwardness of my movements, or of 
the correctness of my answer to an examination question. 
In these senses, the words ' mind ' and * consciousness ' 
are familiar to all of us. 

Now it is quite true that psychology deals with mind 
and consciousness, and with their laws. But it often 
happens that the scientific use of words is different from 
their popular or ordinary use. Thus the word ' law ' 
means, in everyday language, an ordinance or regulation 
imposed by authority ; whereas, in the language of natural 
science, it means simply a regularity or unbroken uni- 
formity of natural events. It should not be surprising, 
then, that the ' mind ' and ' consciousness ' of psycho- 
logical science differ a little in their meanings from the 
' mind ' and ' consciousness ' of our daily conversation. 
We shall see, later on, that the current usage of the 
words is metaphysical as well as psychological. 

It will, perhaps, be easiest for us to get rid of our pre- 
conceived opinions as to the meanings of these familiar 
terms, if we have before us, from the very outset, a 
scientific definition of psychology, and postpone for the 
present our discussion of * mind ' and * consciousness ' in 
their technical psychological senses. Psychology may be 



§ 2. The Definition of Psychology 5 

defined as the science of mental processes. Each of the 
three terms included in the definition requires a brief 
explanation. 

A process is any object of scientific knowledge which 
is not a * thing.' A 'thing' is permanent, relatively un- 
changing, definitely marked off from other things. A 
process is, by etymology, a 'moving forward.' It is a be- 
coining something, — a continuous operation, a progressive 
change, which the scientific observer can trace throughout 
its course. It melts into and blends with operations and 
changes which follow and precede it. Thus the chemist 
speaks of the 'process of decomposition.' The changes 
which constitute decomposition are the ' process ' ; the 
final products of decomposition are * things.' The wear- 
ing away of a cliff by the action of water is a process ; 
the rock itself is a thing. The thing ' is,' here or there ; 
the process 'takes place.' — Psychology deals always with 
processes, and never with things. 

A mental process is any process, falling within the 
range of our experience, in the origination and continu- 
ance of which we are ourselves necessarily concerned. 
Heat is a process. But heat, regarded simply as a 
' mode of motion,' is independent of us ; the movement 
continues, whether or not we are present to sense the 
heat. When, however, heat falls within our sensible ex- 
perience, we, the experiencing individuals, have something 
to say to it ; it is what it is, in part at any rate, because 
of ns. The (physical) movement is translated by us into 
the (psychological) sensation of heat. More than that : 
if we are cold, to start with, the same physical heat will 
seem hotter to us than it would have done, had we been 
warm. This heat process, theUj, is a mental process. Qr 



6 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

again : the space of geometry is independent of us. It 
has its laws, which hold good whether we know them or 
not. But space may be a matter of our experience, and 
may be modified by our experience. '' I had such pleas- 
ant thoughts," we may say, **that the road seemed much 
shorter than usual." TJiis space is a mental process. 

— Psychology deals with none but mental processes. 

A science is a sum of knowledge which has been classi- 
fied and arranged under certain general rules and com- 
prehensive laws ; it is coherent and unified knowledge. 
We may know, from our boyish discoveries, that the 
eggs of some gulls and some plovers are speckled with 
green and brown ; but this knowledge is not scientific. 
It becomes scientific when we include it in the know- 
ledge that the speckling is characteristic of the eggs of 
the Laridae and Charadriidae ; and when we use it to link 
these two groups together, in making out the inter-re- 
lations and lines of descent of the different bird forms. 

— Psychology is not a string of unconnected observations, 
but a science. 

(i) Objection may be taken to the statement that the subject- 
matter of psychology consists exclusively of processes. All the 
text-books of psychology, it may be said, treat of ideas. But 
ideas are stable, permanent * things.' I remember now the large 
chestnut tree that overshadowed my home ; I have an idea of the 
tree. The idea is clear-cut, separate from other ideas which it 
may call up, — the ideas of the house, of my room in the house, 
etc. Does not its permanence, and its independence of other 
ideas, make it a * thing ' ? 

A close examination of the idea or mental picture of the tree 
shows us that the objection is not well founded. The idea of the 
tree is complex, containing a number of colours, a number of 
lights and shades, a number of forms. These constituents receive 



§ 2. TJie Definition of PsycJioIogy 7 

varying emphasis during the time of our attention to the idea. 
Now the form of the tree is uppermost in our mind, now its 
shadow, now the stickiness of its buds, now some incident con- 
nected with it, — the crashing down of a snow-laden branch, 
or what not. The idea changes. Again : the idea of the tree 
differs according to the different backgrounds of thought upon 
which it appears. It may be suggested to us by the pain of a 
bruise, by a patch of colours in a strange landscape, by the sough 
of the wind on a stormy night, etc. It is not the same in these 
different cases : it melts to some extent into its mental background, 
and is continually shifting and moving upon the background. Yet 
again : the idea of the tree need not always be a mental picture, 
a visual idea. It may contain the ideas of words, spoken or 
heard ; certain scents, of spring or autumn ; certain remem- 
brances of movement or pressure or resistance. All these factors 
come and go, change places and vary in importance, as the idea 
passes through the mind. The idea is not a thing : it does not 
stand, like the rock ; it takes place or goes on, like the action of 
the waves upon the rock. It is a process. 

Still, it is always the idea of a tree. Yes : just as the process of 
decomposition can always be called ' decomposition.' The name 
is permanent and unchanging ; but the name is only one factor out 
of the whole number which make up the actual mental experience. 

(2) It is impossible to give at the outset a complete list even 
of the typical forms of mental processes. Every item of our 
' inner ' experience — every idea, desire, resolve, emotion, impulse, 
train of thought, action — is a mental process or a complex of 
mental processes. 

(3) That psychology is a science can best be shown by an illus- 
tration. Suppose that you are requested to draw upon a piece of 
paper a circle of the apparent size of the full moon. The words 
' draw the circle ' arouse a number of ideas in your mind : you think 
of various occasions when you have seen the moon, you look to 
see whether the pencil is properly sharpened, etc. When ideas 
are connected together in this way, each growing out of some one 
that has preceded it, we speak of a successive association of ideas. 
But there is another set of mental processes involved : those 



8 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

aroused by the gripping of the pencil and its movement over 
the surface of the paper. When an association of ideas ends with 
the idea of bodily movement, and this is followed by the sensa- 
tions which accompany movement, we speak of the total experi- 
ence as an action. The request to draw the circle, then, may be 
looked upon as a problem in the psychology of action. 

When we set to work to analyse this particular action, we find 
that the circle which we draw is the final result of a very large 
number of tendencies within us and conditions outside of us. 
Simple as the request is, each one of us understands it in his own 
way ; and easy as it is to draw a circle, the reasons which lead to 
this drawing are different from those which lead to all the others. 
Thus one of us may draw ' from memory,' while another has to 
* imagine ' how the moon looks. And drawing from memory may 
be of two kinds : the memory may be visual memory, a remem- 
brance of the moon as she appears in the sky, or verbal memory, 
a remembrance of a statement, somewhere heard or seen, that the 
moon ' looks as large as a penny,' or '■ as large as a dinner plate.' 
Again : individuals differ in the amount of practice which they 
have had in ' drawing from memory,' — i.e., in the translation of 
an idea (the remembered moon) into the movements of hand and 
arm necessary to reproduce this idea upon paper. Again : the 
attention may vary, and vary in two ways, during the drawing. It 
may vary in steadiness, in ' concentration ' : the agent may be 
very attentive to the action, alternately attentive and inattentive, or 
quite inattentive. It may also vary in direction, while the agent 
wonders whether the size of the circle is the important thing, and 
neatness may be neglected, or whether the figure drawn must be 
an exact geometrical circle ; or speculates as to ' what will be done 
with * the drawings after they are made. 

Memory, practice and attention are only some of the subjec- 
tive factors in the action, factors which may differ in different 
cases because of differences of internal tendency. We have said 
nothing at all of a long list of objective factors, due to conditions 
outside of us. But our analysis, imperfect as it is, is sufficiently 
complete to indicate two points : that the drawing is, as was stated 
just now, the final result of a large number of influences ; and 



§ 3- Mental Process, Conscioitsness and Mind 9 

that these influences — whether they are those of mner tendency 
or of external condition — can be classified and arranged, can be 
separately investigated by the psychologist, and can have their due 
weight assigned them in particular instances. The possibility of 
analysis and classification shows that psychology may justly lay 
claim to rank as a science. 

§ 3. Mental Process, Consciousness and Mind. — Psychol- 
ogy is sometimes defined, technically as well as popularly, 
as the ' science of mind.' The psychologist can accept 
this definition, side by side with that just given, if ' mind ' 
is understood to mean simply the sum total of mental pro- 
cesses experienced by the individual during his lifetime. 
Ideas, feelings, impulses, etc., are mental processes ; the 
whole number of ideas, feelings, impulses, etc., experi- 
enced by me during my life constitutes my * mind.' Mind, 
as used in everyday conversation, means much more than 
this : it means something ' immaterial ' or ' spiritual ,' 
which shows itself in ideas and feelings, but is really 
more than those ideas and feelings, — it means a some- 
thing which ' lies behind ' the particular manifestations of 
our mental life, just as the thing (table, e.g.^ seems to 
lie behind the attributes of the thing (the roundness or 
squareness, size, height, etc., of the particular table). 
Looked at in this way, however, the term * mind ' takes 
on metaphysical implications, and therefore has no place 
in psychology. The question : Is there anything behind 
the mental process, any permanent mind .'* and if there is, 
what is its nature .'' — is a question which has often been 
asked, and which it is well worth while to try to answer. 
But it is not a question which can be raised by psychology. 
Psychology sees in mind nothing more than the whole 
sum of mental processes experienced in a single lifetime. 



10 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

There is, however, a great difference between the men- 
tal processes of childhood, vigorous manhood and old age. 
When we speak of ' psychology,' without any qualifying 
adjective, we are usually thinking of the psychology of 
the average human being who has passed beyond child- 
hood, but has not yet become enfeebled by age. Mind, 
then, as ordinarily regarded by the psychologist, is the sum 
total of mental processes experienced during this middle |^ 
stage of life. No definite statement can be made as to 
the age at which the mind of the child passes over into 




li'rth — =*== — ' r— **=^=^ €hath 



Fig, I. — Mind, represented as the sum total of mental 
processes experienced by the individual. (For the 
form of the Fig., cf. § 35; for processes anterior to 
birth, cf. § 63.) 

that of the adult, or that at which the adult mind becomes 
senile. - 

It is clear that mind lasts longer than any single men- 
tal process ; it is a sum or series of mental processes. It 
must be noted further that the processes which make 
up mind do not occur one by one ; our mental experi- 
ence, even in moments of extreme preoccupation or con- 
centration, is complex. As you read this page, your 
mind is composed of a large number of processes : the 
sense of the printed page ; satisfaction or dissatisfaction 
with that sense ; pressures from your clothing, chair, etc. ; 
internal sensations and feelings which make up your 
bodily comfort or discomfort, which inform you of the 
position of your limbs, etc. ; probably a medley of sounds 



§ 3- Mental Process^ Consciousness and Mind 1 1 

from neighbouring rooms or from the street, and so on. 
Just as life consists of a sum of simultaneous processes, — 
secretion and excretion, decomposition and recomposition, 
— so mind is a stream of processes, more or less numer- 
ous, which run their course in time together. 

My * consciousness ' is the sum of mental processes 
which make up my experience noiv ; it is the mind of any 
given ' present ' time. We might, perhaps, consider it as 
a cross-section of mind. This section may be either arti- 
ficial or natural. We may deliberately cut across mind, 
in order to investigate it for psychological purposes. We 
have then interfered with the natural succession of our 
mental processes. On the other hand, mind falls of itself 
into a series of consciousnesses, each separate conscious- 
ness being dominated by some particular group of pro- 
cesses. We enter a scientific lecture room with a science- 
consciousness ; we leave it with a dinner-consciousness ; 
we lay down the day's work with a rest-consciousness. 
These are natural divisions of mind ; they are not so 
complete and radical as those artificially distinguished, but 
they are sufficiently independent of one another for us to 
recognise their existence in our everyday experience. 

The artificial consciousness lasts, as a rule, only for an 
instant. We make our section of mind, glance at the pro- 
cesses in which we are interested, and then move on at 
once to a new consciousness. The natural consciousness 
varies in duration from a few seconds to several hours or 
even days. If a gun is fired unexpectedly outside the win- 
dow of a room in which I am reading an interesting novel, 
I have a momentary sound-consciousness, which immedi- 
ately relapses into the story-consciousness. But if I am 
anticipating a great joy or sorrow, the group of processes 



12 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

which constitutes the special joy-consciousness or sorrow- 
consciousness may persist for some length of time. 

The natural consciousness, indeed, differs precisely as 
the time which we speak of as * the present time ' differs. 
It is * now ' for the whole hour that we spend in the den- 
tist's chair, or for the whole afternoon that we devote to 
the reading of a new book. For the runner who is await- 
ing the signal to start, it is * now ' only for two or three 
seconds. Each of these * now's ' in mental experience is 
a natural consciousness. 

Most analogies and comparisons are in some respects mislead- 
ing ; and our comparison of consciousness to a cross-section of 
mind is no exception to the rule. A cross-section of a group of 
processes will show (i) cut ends (cross-sections of processes act- 
ually cut through), and (2) ' tails ' of processes which are just dis- 
appearing. Now when we examine an artificial consciousness, we 
never look at cut ends. The ' looking at ' a process, while it is 
running its course, alters the process, — and so defeats its own 
object (§ 9). The only processes which the psychologist can 
usefully observe are those which are just vanishing at the moment 
when the cross-section is taken. 

§ 4. The Problem of Psychology. — The aim of the psy- 
chologist is threefold. He seeks (i) to analyse concrete 
(actual) mental experience into its simplest components, 
(2) to discover how these elements combine, what are 
the laws which govern thgir combination, and (3) to bring 
them into connection with their physiological (bodily) 
conditions. 

(i) We saw above that all science begins with analysis. 
The original material of science is complex ; science itself 
introduces order into chaos by reducing the complex to its 
elements, by tracing the proportion of identical elements 



§ 4- 'I'he Problem of Psychology 13 

in different complexes, and by determining (where that is 
possible) the relations of the elements to one another. 
Psychology is no exception to the rule. Our concrete 
mental experience, the experience of 'real life,' is always 
complex. However small a fragment we may seize upon, 
— a single wish, a single idea, a single resolution, — we 
find invariably that close inspection of it will reveal its 
complexity, will show that it is composed of a number of 
more rudimentary processes. The first object of the psy- 
chologist, therefore, is to ascertain the nature and number 
of the mental elements. He takes up mental experience, 
bit by bit, dividing and subdividing, until the division can 
go no further. When that point is reached, he has found 
a conscious element. 

The mental or conscious elements are those mental processes 
which cannot be further analysed, which are absolutely simple in 
nature, and which consequently cannot be reduced, even in part, 
to other processes. The special reasons which lead the psychol- 
ogist to look upon various special processes as elements will be 
discussed in their places, in following chapters. 

We have already seen that an ' idea ' is a complex process. 
We may here illustrate the complexity of concrete mental experi- 
ences by examining an experience of a different order, — say, an 
emotion. The emotion of anger seems, at first sight, to be a 
single experience ; it has a single name. Really, it is highly com- 
plex. It contains, e.g., the idea of the person with whom one is 
angry; the idea of the act of his, at which one is displeased; the 
idea of a retahatory action on one's own part; a mass of bodily 
sensations, attending the flushing of one's face, the tendency to 
clench the fist, the bracing of the whole muscular system, — one 
'feels stronger' when angry. It begins with a feeling of dis- 
pleasure, of pained surprise or wounded pride ; but this soon 
gives way to the pleasantness of anger itself, the delight in the 
idea of retaliation and in the fact that one is strong enough to 



14 TJie Meaning a7id Problem of Psychology 

retaliate, — a delight that has come down to civilised man from 
his primitive ancestors, and that shows itself continually in the 
actions of the child. These processes — themselves by no means 
simple — all take part, crossing and recrossing, shifting and recom- 
bining, in the emotion. They need not all be present together 
in the angry consciousness of a given moment ; but all have their 
share in the experience of anger. 

(2) Analysis needs to be tested in two ways. We must 
always ask, with regard to it : Has it gone as far as it can 
go } and : Has it taken account of all the elements which 
are contained in the experience } To answer the first 
question, the analysis must be repeated : analysis is its 
own test. When one psychologist says that a process is 
elemental, other psychologists repeat his analysis for them- 
selves, trying to carry it further than he could do. If 
they stop short where he did, he was right ; if they find 
his ' simple ' process to be complex, he was wrong. As 
regards the second question, on the other hand, the test of 
analysis is syjithesis. When we have analysed a complex 
into the elements a^ b^ r, we test our analysis by trying to 
put it together again, to get it back from a, b and c. If 
the complexcan be thus restored, the analysis is correct; 
but if the combination of a, b and c does not give us back 
the original complex, the analyst has failed to discover 
some one or more of its ingredients. Hence the psy- 
chologist, when he has analysed consciousness, must put 
together the results of his analysis, must synthetise, and 
compare his reconstruction of mental experience with the 
experience as originally given. If the two tally, his work 
on that mental experience is done, and he can pass on to 
another ; if not, he must repeat his analysis, watching con- 
stantly for the factors which he had previously missed. 



§ 4- The Ptvblem of Psychology 15 

If the conscious elements were 'things,' the task of 
reconstruction of an experience would not be difficult. 
We should put the simple bits of mind together, as the 
bits of wood are put together in a child's puzzle-map or 
kindergarten cube. But the conscious elements are * pro- 
cesses ' : they do not fit together, side to side and angle to 
angle ; they flow together, mix together, overlapping, rein- 
forcing, modifying or arresting one another, in obedience 
to certain psychological laws. The psychologist must, 
therefore, in the second place, seek to ascertain the laivs 
which govern the connection of the mental elements. 
Knowledge of these laws renders the synthesis of ele- 
ments into a concrete experience possible, and is of assist- 
ance also in subsequent analysis. 

When we try for the first time to analyse anger, we may very 
easily overlook the fourth factor mentioned above, — the mass of 
sensations accompanying the flush of anger, the doubling of the 
fist, etc. We discover that we have omitted something, however, 
as soon as ever we put together the ingredients which we have 
noticed, and ask if they actually make up the experience of anger, 
and if they exhaust all that we ' feel ' when we are angry. Some- 
thiftg is still lacking. This discovery shows us that the processes 
which our analysis has brought to light must somehow have ob- 
scured certain other processes, connected with them in the actual 
emotion. We have now, therefore, to repeat our analysis, keep- 
ing a sharp lookout for the missing processes : we shall do well to 
try to analyse some other emotions, since the processes which are 
obscure in anger may, perhaps, come to the front in them. After 
many trials we find what the lacking something is ; and our syn- 
thesis is satisfactory. At this stage we note carefully the manner 
in which the items which we missed at first are connected with 
the other processes in anger, — we seek to determine how they 
could have been obscured so completely by the other processes. 
And having made a large number of similar notes, and compared 



1 6 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

them methodically, we are finally able to write out a law of mental 
combination or connection. When we have our law, we can 
apply it in difficult cases as they occur, and so gain help in our 
later analyses. 

(3) Every mental process is connected with a bodily 
process ; we do not know anything of mind apart from 
body. Mind and body, that is, always go together in our 
experience. And ordinary observation will convince us 
that body influences mind in various ways. Consciousness 
when the eyes are closed is different from consciousness 
when the eyes are open ; if the bodily state varies, the 
mental state varies also ; the dropping of the eyelids pre- 
vents the ether waves from gaining access to the sensitive 
parts of the eyes, and with this physical fact go the men- 
tal facts of the sensation of darkness, the ' feeling ' of 
bodily unsteadiness and uncertainty, etc. The mind of a 
man who has been blind from his birth is essentially dif- 
ferent from the mind of one endowed with normal vision. 
Where the latter sees, the former hears and touches : I 
see my path, but the blind man hears and 'feels ' his way. 
Even the highest and most abstract processes of thought 
give evidence of the close connection of mind with body. 
We cannot think, unless we have ideas in which to think ; 
and ideas are built up from impressions received through 
bodily sense-organs. Thus most of us remember, imagine, 
dream, and think in terms of sight. When we remember 
an event, we see it occurring ' in our mind's eye ' ; when 
we ' imagine ' an experience, we have a mental ' image ' 
of it, we seem to see it take place ; when we dream, we 
ordinarily see ourselves or our friends engaged in this 
action or in that ; and when we think, we often see the 
words in which we are thinking, as if they were printed or 



§ § 4, 5 • ^^^^ Problem and Subdivisions of Psychology 1 7 

written on an imagined page. Psychology is not com- 
plete, then, until we have brought the results of our analy- 
sis of mental experience, the mental elements, into con- 
nection with the bodily strnctnres and functions which 
condition them. 

Put in another way, the problem of psychology may be said 
to consist in the description and explanation of mental pro- 
cesses. Exact description implies analysis and synthesis ; you 
cannot describe accurately unless you have taken the object of 
your description to pieces, observed it in all its parts, and then 
replaced the parts and reconstructed the whole. When we have 
described, we can go on to explain, to state the circumstances 
under which the process takes place. Explanation is always that : 
the statement of the circumstances or conditions under which the 
described phenomenon occurs. The conditions of mental pro- 
cesses are partly mental and partly bodily : the laws of mental 
connection, on the one hand, and the laws (functions) of certain 
bodily structures on the other. 

The psychologist has to pull mental experience to pieces, — to 
put it together again, — and to note what happens to the partic- 
ular processes involved, and what goes on in the body while the 
experience is in progress. This is the ' problem ' of psychology. 

§ 5. The Subdivisions of Psychology. — The psychology 
which we defined in § 2 may be termed general psychol- 
ogy. It includes many special branches of psychological 
enquiry with which we shall not be directly concerned in 
this book. The psychology of which we shall treat is nor- 
mal, adult, human, individual, psychology. 

(i) Human psychology confines itself to the human 
consciousness, and is thus distinguished from animal psy- 
chology^ which describes and seeks to explain the mental 
processes of the lower animals. Human and animal psy- 
chology are included together under the single name com- 



1 8 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

parative psychology. The comparative psychologist uses 
the results of his study of the animal mind to throw light 
upon the mental processes of man, by comparison of each 
body of observed facts with the other. 

(2) Individual psychology leaves out of account the 
material dealt with by social psychology. The social psy- 
chologist examines the mental experience of groups of 
individuals (societies), as manifested in their myths, lan- 
guage, customs, etc. Mythology is, as it were, a collection 
of fossil beliefs, all of which were once living processes 
in the minds of individuals. Language, again, may be 
called fossil thought. ' Blue ' is the colour of the ' blow- 
ing' wind; 'green' the colour of 'growing' vegetation. 
A knowledge of these and similar relations between words 
helps us to understand how our ancestors thought. In 
the same way, custom is very often a fossil expression of 
some emotion or sentiment ; our customary greetings and 
salutations, e.g., are expressions of the sentiment of rev- 
erence. The study of the social psychology of primitive 
or savage races is termed anthropological psychology. 

(3) We distinguish adult psychology from child psychol- 
ogy, which discusses the working of the child's mind at 
different stages of its development, and the way in which 
it passes over into the adult mind. The study of the 
child and animal minds is sometimes termed the study 
of psychogenesis (mind-growth). 

(4) Normal psychology takes no account of the facts 
of mental patJiology. Mental pathology deals with all that 
is irregular or unusual in the human consciousness : with 
the various forms of mental derangement (insanity), with 
the temporary lapse of consciousness in sleep and the 
changes which it undergoes in dreaming, with the hyp- 



§ 5- The Subdivisions of Psychology 19 

notic consciousness (the phenomena of suggestion), and 
with the senile mind (gradual loss of memory with ad- 
vancing age, etc.). 

This long list of excluded branches of psychological enquiry 
may lead the reader to suppose that our own psychology is but 
a small, and perhaps not the most important part of general 
psychology. The supposition would be incorrect. Animal psy- 
chology is still in its infancy ; child psychology is hardly farther 
advanced (cf. the following Section) ; while social psychology is 
not much more than a programme for the future. Mental pathol- 
ogy has made better progress : and we shall appeal to it for 
illustration, wherever its discoveries help us to understand the 
workings of the normal mind. Our references to animal, child 
and social psychology will necessarily be less numerous : there 
are fewer established facts for us to refer to. 

Other words or phrases which may usefully be defined 
here are * experimental psychology,' 'physiological psychol- 
ogy,' and *psychophysics.' (i) Experimental psychology 
insists that the psychological method of introspection (§9) 
shall be employed under ' experimental ' conditions ; that 
is, under conditions which reduce the possibility of mis- 
takes to a minimum, and which enable one enquirer to 
test or check the work of another by exactly repeating 
it for himself (see §§9, 10). It is the psychology of 
which we shall treat in the present work. It is some- 
times called * modern ' psychology, or * the new ' psychol- 
ogy, to distinguish it from the merely ' descriptive ' psy- 
chology which was current before experiment had been 
applied to mental processes. (2) Physiological psychology 
is both wider and narrower than experimental psychology. 
It is wider, in that it demands a detailed knowledge of 
certain parts of physiology (the physiology of the central 



20 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

nervous system and of the sense-organs attached to it); 
and it is narrower, in that it employs no methods of inves- 
tigation except those which are followed in the physio- 
logical laboratory. ' Psychophysiology ' covers the same 
ground as physiological psychology, but (as the name im- 
plies) lays more stress upon the physiological aspect of 
its subject-matter than upon the psychological. (3) Psy- 
chophysics is the science of the relation of mind to body. 
It lays precisely equal weight upon the mental process 
and the bodily process connected with it. The psycho- 
physicist desires to know exactly how mind is related to 
body, and body to mind. He gets his facts or data both 
from the psychologist (number and nature of the mental 
elements, laws of mental connection) and the anatomist 
and physiologist (structure and function of the various 
parts and organs of the body). His aim is to bring the 
two sets of facts, the mental and bodily, into connection 
with each other ; to discover the lazvs of the connection. 

It will be seen that the problem of psychophysics is identical 
with the last of the three special enquiries which make up the 
problem of psychology. The psychologist can borrow facts from 
the psychophysicist, therefore, as well as the psychophysicist from 
the psychologist. But though the problem may be identical in the 
two cases, the standpoint of the enquirers is different. The psy- 
chophysicist examines the relation of mind to body for its own 
sake : when he knows the relation, his work is over. The psy- 
chologist examines the relation from the side of mind, and uses 
it to assist him in his explanation of mental phenomena. 

In just the same way, the problem of psychophysics is part of 
the problem of physiology. The standpoint differs again, how- 
ever : the physiologist looks at the relation between body and 
mind from the side of body, and uses it to assist him in his ex- 
planation of the phenomena of life. To the psychophysicist, 



§ 6. External Aids to Psychology 21 

knowledge of the relation is an end ; to the physiologist, as to the 
psychologist, it is only a meafts to an end. 

§ 6. External Aids to Psychology. — The two last Sec- 
tions will have made it clear that psychology in the 
narrower sense is closely connected with certain other 
sciences, and may hope to derive assistance from them 
in its attempt to describe and explain the facts of our 
mental life. The sciences to which we shall most nat- 
urally appeal for help are those of psychogenesis, mental 
pathology and physiology. 

(i) Darwin's work has made every one familiar with the 
idea of evolution or development, and has taught us that 
we do not thoroughly understand anything until we have 
found out how it ' grew,' i.e., how it came to be what it 
now is. The composite plant and the highly organised 
animal have developed out of simpler forms of life, and 
biological science seeks to determine the conditions under 
which the growth or development took place. Man is no 
exception to the rule : and we must accordingly suppose 
that the human mind has developed out of a simpler form 
of mind. 

There are two forms of normal mind which are simpler 
than our own : the healthy animal mind and the healthy 
child mind. Careful study of psychogenesis in these two 
cases may be expected some day to clear up many difficult 
points in adult human psychology, by showing us how 
processes, now highly complex, began in a simple way, 
and have gradually grown to be what they are. At 
present, however, for reasons which cannot be stated here, 
but little has been done towards the investigation of the 
child and animal consciousness, and the results obtained 
are fragmentary and not very securely established. 



22 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

The value of comparative study to the psychologist may be 
shown by an instance taken from the psychology of action. When 
we are angry, grieved, etc., — emotionally 'moved,' — we express 
our emotion by certain bodily movements, known technically as 
* expressive movements.' Many of these movements are unintel- 
ligible until viewed in the light of mental history, of psychogenesis. 
Thus the face of proud contempt, "curving a contumelious lip," 
is only the human copy of the snarl of the dog or wolf. There 
seems to be no reason why we should curl our upper lip to express 
scorn ; but there is good reason why the animal should do so, — 
the upward curl lays bare the sharp ' canine ' teeth, and is there- 
fore a preparation for actual attack of the enemy. In this case, 
then, as in many others, the human expressive movement is a sur- 
vival, in weakened form, of an association (§2) which originally 
served a definite and important purpose in mental Hfe. 

(2) Mental pathology has proved more useful than 
psychogenesis to the normal psychologist. Just as the 
study of bodily disease helps us to understand what 
health is, and to take measures for the preservation of 
health, so the study of mental lack or mental derange- 
ment brings to light both the nature and the importance 
of certain normal processes. 

*' Prevention is better than cure." But prevention is 
only possible after a long series of particular cures has 
been performed. The different diseases show us what 
conditions are favourable to health, and what are un- 
favourable ; and we learn to avoid over-eating, cold 
draughts, etc. In other words, the different diseases 
help us to analyse health into a number of factors : good 
digestion, uniform temperature, moderate exercise. In 
just the same way, the occurrence of various forms of 
mental disease helps us to analyse the normal conscious- 
ness ; we see what kinds of processes are grouped to- 



§ 6. External Aids to Psychology 23 

gether, and what processes are relatively independent ; 
and we may have factors brought under our notice 
which would have escaped us altogether in the normal 
mind, because masked or obscured by the presence of 
other processes. As the first business of the psycholo- 
gist is analysis, this assistance from mental pathology 
is very important. 

Again : it is often said that one does not realise the 
blessing of health unless one has recently recovered from 
an illness. Health is appreciated by contrast with ill- 
health. So in psychology : when we contrast the normal 
consciousness with the abnormal, we are better able to ap- 
preciate what the normal consciousness z>, and to under- 
stand its mechanism or working. 

A case of blind-deaf-mutism, like that of Laura Bridgman,^ is, 
so to speak, a psychological experiment made for us by Nature 
herself. When we observe how a mind works, which lacks the 
perceptions of sight and hearing, and the sensations accompanying 
the movements of speech, we can estimate the place which these 
sensations and perceptions occupy in our own conscious life ; and 
the makeshifts of the defective mind, the various ways in which 
the processes remaining to compose it are made to do double or 
triple duty, give us welcome hints as to the hidden resources and 
obscurer functions of our own fuller and richer consciousness. Or 
again : suppose that a man, bhnd from his birth, is rendered able 

1 Laura Dewey Bridgman was born in 1829 at Hanover, New Hampshire, 
and died in 1889, ^t the Perkins Institution for the BHnd, Boston, Massachu- 
setts. An attack of scarlet fever at the age of two years deprived her of hear- 
ing and of the sight of her left eye, while it greatly impaired the senses of smell 
and taste. Speech was lost with the loss of hearing ; and the sight of the right 
eye disappeared entirely six years after the illness. 

A special system of education was devised for Laura Bridgman, and ex- 
tended from 1837 to 1850. From the reports of her mental development 
during this period, and from examinations of her capacities made at a later 
date, much valuable psychological information has been obtained. 



24 The Meaning and Problem of Psychology 

to see by a surgical operation. He must learn to use his eyes, as 
a child learns to walk. And the gradual perfecting of his vision, 
the mistakes and confusions to which he is liable, all the details of 
his visual education, form a storehouse of facts upon which the 
psychologist can draw, when he seeks to illustrate the develop- 
ment of the perception of space in the normal mind, — the manner 
in which we come to judge of the distance of objects from one 
another, of their direction, and of their size and shape. Once 
more : those forms of mental unsoundness which consist in the 
decay or derangement of a single group of processes are of great use 
to the psychologist. They show him how the mind works without 
that particular group, or how it works when the group occupies 
too large and prominent a place in the field of consciousness ; and 
thus enable him to trace its normal function in the healthy mind. 
What is called ' agoraphobia ' — a morbid fear of being alone in 
open spaces, of crossing a street, etc. — is only an exaggerated form 
of an experience which most of us have had, the experience of 
' losing our head,' when we pass suddenly from a quiet country Hfe 
to the bustle of a large town ; and the study of this experience 
' writ large ' in agoraphobia will help us to understand it as printed 
small and stamped lightly upon our own consciousness. So the 
exaggerated self-importance of paranoia throws light upon the 
state of mind which we describe by saying that we were ' self- 
conscious ' upon some social or public occasion. 

(3) The third science to mention is physiology. The 
reader need only be reminded that one of the aims of the 
psychologist is to bring the simplest mental processes into 
connection with the bodily processes which they accompany. 
It is clear that he cannot accomplish this task, unless he 
have some knowledge of the different bodily organs, of 
the way in which they work together for various purposes, 
and of the part they play in the life of the whole organism. 

Illustrations of the way in which physiology can aid psychology 
will be found throughout the following chapters of this book. One 
instance may suffice here. 



§ 6. External Aids to Psychology 25 

The psychological investigation of feeling (pleasantness and 
unpleasantness) is very difficult. Fortunately, every feeling has 
various bodily manifestations, in breathing, play of feature, etc., so 
that we can follow the course of a pleasure or disagreeableness by 
noting its physiological symptoms. Now it has been found that 
the bodily manifestations of the 'higher' feelings — joy, the 
pleasure of success, the pleasure of the performance of a duty ; 
or shame, scorn, the dissatisfaction which follows failure — are the 
same as the bodily manifestations of the Mower' feelings, — the 
pleasure of a good meal, or the unpleasantness of bodily pain. 
Here is welcome confirmation of the conclusion reached, but 
reached with great difficulty, by introspection : that the conscious 
processes of pleasantness and unpleasantness are the same, in 
whatever mental setting they occur, i.e., with whatever other 
mental processes they are connected. 



PART I 

CHAPTER II 

Sensation as a Conscious Element. The Method of 
investigating sensation 

§ 7. The Definition of Sensation, — We have seen that 
'thinking' cannot go on without ideas. When I am 
thinking about anything, my consciousness consists of a 
number of ideas, some running their course side by side, 
and others following these in obedience to the laws of 
association. We have seen also that we cannot have cer- 
tain ideas unless the body possesses certain organs ; 'mem- 
ory ' and ' imagination,' e.g., are very largely made up, for 
most of us, of visual ideas, — and these imply the existence 
of the eye. 

Ideas are always complex, made up of separate parts. 
Our way of using a single word to express them — though 
there are good reasons for it — is likely to mislead us upon 
this matter : it tempts us to think that they are simple and 
uniform in their nature. Hence it requires some effort 
and trouble to analyse an idea, even if (as is often the 
case) it owes its existence to the combined action of sev- 
eral sense-organs. But every idea can be resolved into 
elements, i.e., elemental /r^^^.fi'^^/ and these elements are 
termed sensations. 

My idea of a particular book is an idea derived from the co- 
operation of several bodily organs. It may include at any moment 
the look of the book (eye), the sound of its contents when read 

26 



§ 7- The Definition of Sensation 27 

aloud (ear), its weight (skin, etc.), and the scent of its cover 
(nose). Now let us leave out of account all the constituents of 
the idea except those which come from the eye. We have re- 
maining the red of the leather and gold of the lettering on the 
cover, and the black and white of the printed pages. Each of 
these quite simple components of the idea is a se?isation of sight. 
Or let us leave out of account all the constituents except those 
coming through the ear. We then have the sounds of a familiar 
voice, which we imagine to be speaking certain successions of 
words. Each word uttered has a particular pitch, is a particular 
musical tone ; while at the same time its consonants are heard as 
noises or auditory shocks. These quite simple processes — the 
simple tone and the simple noise — are sensatiojis of hearing. Or 
again : let us leave out of account all the components of the idea 
except the weight which we remember that the volume has when 
we hold it up. This weight includes a pressure on the skin of the 
hand, a pull or strain upon the tendons which hold the muscles of 
the arm to their bones, and a jamming together of the bones them- 
selves at wrist and elbow-joint. Each constituent — skin pressure, 
tendinous strain, articular (joint) pressure — is a quite simple 
process, which cannot be further analysed. We speak, therefore, 
oi sejisatio7is of pressure and of strain. 

We have now split up the apparently simple ' book ' into a large 
number of really simple sensations. The analysis was not easy, 
even though different bodily organs were concerned in the idea : 
it would be difficult to say, for instance, just what is due, in the 
idea of 'weight,' to joint, what to sinew, and what to skin. The 
analysis becomes very much more difficult when all the compo- 
nents of the idea come from the same sense-organ. Long prac- 
tice is required before one can analyse the note of a musical 
instrument into the separate simple tones which it contains. But 
the analysis is always possible. 

We may compare the sensation, the element of the idea, 
to the elements treated of in chemical science. The idea 
is a compound ; it consists of a number of elemental 



28 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

processes, travelling side by side in consciousness : it 
therefore resembles the compound bodies analysed in the 
chemical laboratory. But the sensation resists analysis, 
just as do the chemical elements oxygen and hydrogen. 
It stands to the idea as oxygen and hydrogen stand to 
water. Whatever test we put it to, — however persistent 
our attempt at analysis and however refined our method of 
investigation, — we end where we began : the sensation 
remains precisely what it was before we attacked it. 
' Cold,' ' blue,' * salt,' cannot be divided up into any 
simpler modes of experience. 

All sensations come to us from definite bodily organs: 
cold from the temperature organs in the skin, blue from 
the sensitive organs in the retina of the eye, salt from 
sensitive cells planted in the mucous membrane of the 
tongue. These ' peripheral ' organs — organs at the pe- 
riphery or on the surface of the body — are united, by 
nerve-fibres, to the supreme ' central ' organ, the brain. 
The peripheral organs of temperature are united to one 
group of cells in the cortex (the grey covering matter) of 
the hemispheres of the brain ; the retina of the eye to 
another ; the peripheral taste-cells to a third. The bodily 
process with which sensation is connected is, therefore, 
twofold : it consists of a stimulation of the peripheral 
organ, and a consequent excitation (carried inwards by 
nerve-fibres) of the central organ. 

Our definition of sensation must take account of its sim- 
plicity as a conscious process (first part of the problem of 
psychology : § 4) and of its bodily conditions (third part 
of the problem). It will run as follows: Sensations are 
those elemental conscious processes which are connected 
with bodily processes in definite bodily organs. 



§§ 7> S. The Definition and Attributes of Sensation 29 

We cannot get any sensation until the peripheral organ has 
been stimulated. Those unfortunates who are born blind or deaf, 
who have no peripheral organs which can be stimulated, possess 
no sensations of sight or hearing at all. It is a mistake to suppose 
that they live in darkness and silence. To appreciate darkness 
and silence we must be able to see and hear ; darkness is a sen- 
sation of sight, and silence is in reality a very faint sensation of 
sound, — the sensation received from the pumping of blood 
through the arteries of the ear. Those born deaf or blind do not 
hear or see anything. 

But when the peripheral organ has been stimulated some few 
times, its stimulation ceases to be necessary to the production of 
a sensation. The central excitation (set up somehow within the 
brain) is enough. We can ' remember ' a yellow, when our eyes 
are shut ; we can ' imagine ' a cold draught, when our skin is 
thoroughly warm. The bodily processes connected with the 
remembered yellow and the imagined cold are central only, not 
peripheral: but the yellow and the cold, as mental processes, 
are none the less se7isations. 

" They are different from real sensations, however, — different 
from sensations set up by actual stimulation of the eye and skin," 
it may be said : " we know that they are only remembered or 
imagined, and not sensed." That is true : but the difference does 
not lie in the nature of the processes themselves. A remembered 
' yellow ' and a seen ' yellow ' are just the same as sensations, as 
' yellows.' If the remembered yellow seems to lack something of 
the seen yellow, that is only because its intensity is less, its out- 
line not so distinct, its conscious course more rapid. Really, how- 
ever, the ^ remembered yellow ' is a more complex process than 
the seen yellow : it is a yellow plus what we may call the memory- 
mark. So an imagined cold is a sensation of cold plus the imagi- 
nation-mark. The processes which make up these marks will be 
analysed later on (Ch. XI). 

§ 8. The Attributes of Sensation. — Although the sensa- 
tion is an element of mind, that is, a process which can- 
not be split up into simpler processes, yet it has various 



30 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

aspects or attributes — presents different sides, so to speak 
— each of which may be separately examined by the psy- 
chologist. Some sensations have four such aspects ; every 
sensation has at least three. The four are quality, inten- 
sity, extent and duration. The process is itself, and not 
some other process (quality) ; it is stronger or weaker than 
other sensations (intensity) ; it spreads over a certain por- 
tion of space, greater or less (extent) ; and it lasts a cer- 
tain, longer or shorter period of time (duration). 

Suppose that I have a tuning-fork, which gives the pitch of the 
concert a. I may strike it gently or roughly. In each case, the 
* tone ' remains the same, the quality is that of the musical a ; 
but the tone produced by the second blow is louder, more inten- 
sive, than that produced by the gentle tap. Again : I may let 
the tone ' run down ' or ' ring off,' or I may stop or ' damp ' it by 
laying my finger upon the vibrating prongs a second or two after 
I have struck the fork. The tone is still the same ; its duration 
differs. This tone sensation, then, possesses quality (the pitch of a 
musical « in a certain octave of the scale), intensity (loudness or 
softness) and duration (more or less time for the running its 
course in consciousness) . It has no extent, since sounds, though 
they come to us through space, do not fill space, and therefore 
cannot be compared as regards size. A bass note, though it may 
have more ^volume ' (as we say) than a treble note, is not larger 
than the treble note, in the sense in which the red quality of a 
peony is larger, more extended than the same quality in a rose. 

Had we taken as our illustration this sensation of colour from 
the eye, or a sensation of pressure upon the skin, we should have 
found the attribute of extent present in it. No point of coloured 
light is so small that it has no length or breadth : and no needle- 
prick is so fine that it does not affect some extent of skin. Extent 
is an invariable property of visual and cutaneous (skin) sensations. 

We may represent a four-attribute sensation in the form 
indicated by Fig. 2. It must be noted that all the aspects 




§ 8. The Attributes of Sensation 31 

(three or four) which a particular sensation can present are, 
as a matter of fact, always presented together in conscious- 
ness. If any one of them disappears, the 
whole sensation disappears with it. A 
tone which is of no duration, which does 
not last for any time at all, is not a tone ; 
and a point of light which has no extent 
cannot give rise to a sensation of sight, — it is just nothing. 
The quality of a sensation is the attribute which distin- 
guishes it from every other sensation. And it is quality 
which makes sensation an elemental conscious process. 
The fact that one process is stronger or weaker than an- 
other, lasts a longer or shorter time, is more or less 
extended, could never tell us whether it was itself sim- 
ple or complex. But every quality is radically different 
from every other quality: it always remains itself, through 
all changes of intensity and of time or space. An a in 
music may vary in loudness and in duration ; but it is still 
a, and therefore different from all the other tones, b, <:, 
etc. A blue may show itself as a flash or as a permanent 
illumination ; it may be a point or a broad colour surface : 
but its blueness differentiates it from all other visual sen- 
sations. Quality, that is, is the most important and funda- 
mental of the sensation attributes : it constitutes what we 
might call the core or kernel of the sensation, — though 
we must not allow the phrase to mislead us, by suggesting 
that the sensation is a compound process. We might ex- 
press the fact equally well, perhaps, by saying that sensation 
intensity is always the intensity of a certain quality ; sen- 
sation duration always the duration of a certain quality, etc. 

Quite complex processes may possess their own intensity, dura- 
tion and extent. Thus a note struck upon the piano, which com- 



32 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

prises several sensations of simple tone, may be spoken of as 
' loud ' or * soft ' ; the taste of a refreshing draught of lemonade may 
linger in the mouth for a longer or shorter time ; and the Sistine 
Madonna may be imagined as of any size, from that of the origi- 
nal painting to that of a small cabinet photograph. But no com- 
plex idea has a single quality. Even if it seems single to the 
untrained observer, — as the piano note may do, — it can be 
resolved by practice into its really simple elements (sensation 
qualities) . 

How it comes about that a complex process may have a ^ total ' 
intensity, duration, etc., distinct from the intensities and durations 
of the sensations composing it, will be explained later on (§§ 39, 

43 ff.). 

§ 9. The Method of investigating Sensation. — Every 
science has its own special material to deal with, and 
consequently its own special methods of working upon 
that material for the discovery of facts and laws. Physics 
and chemistry follow * physical ' and * chemical ' methods : 
and no progress can be made by the student in either sci- 
ence until he has learned the right way to work, i.e.^ has 
grasped the significance of method. The special method 
employed by psychology is that of introspection or self- 
observation. We ' look into ' the mind, each for himself ; 
or we observe ourselves, — in order to find out what pro- 
cesses are going on at the time, and how they are influ- 
encing one another. 

This ' looking into ' one's mind or observation of one's 
own mental processes must not be understood literally, 
however, as if consciousness were one thing, existing of 
itself, and the * I,' the observer, could stand apart and 
watch it from the outside. The * I,' the watching, and 
the conscious " phenomenon observed, are all alike con- 
scious processes; so that when *I observe myself,' all that 



§ 9- The Method of Investigating Sensation 33 

happens is that a new set of processes is introduced into 
the consciousness of the moment. 

But this introduction of new processes must, it would 
seem, bring about a change in the particular experience 
which one sets out to observe. And it is imperative to 
keep that experience unchanged : a method of observa- 
tion which involved an alteration of the facts to be ob- 
served would not be worth much. Direct introspection — 
observation of a process which is still running its course 
— is, as a matter of fact, entirely worthless ; it defeats 
its own object. 

Suppose, e.g., that I am absorbed in the enjoyment of a humor- 
ous story or a musical composition, and suddenly (remembering 
that I am interested in psychology) ask myself what my enjoy- 
ment is, and what mental processes go to make it up. I find 
myself baffled : the putting of the question has seriously altered 
my consciousness. I cannot enjoy and examine my enjoyment at 
one and the same time. 

Psychological introspection, however, does not consist 
in the effort to follow up a process during its course. 
The rule for introspection, in the sphere of sensation, 
is as follows : Be as attentive as possible to the object or 
process which gives rise to the sensation, and, luhen tJie 
object is retnove^d or tJie process completed, recall tJie sen- 
sation by an act of memory as vividly and completely as 
yon. can. 

The object or process which gives rise to a sensation is 
termed the stimnlns to that sensation. If we attend to 
the stimulus, the sensation becomes clearer, and has a 
more enduring place in consciousness than it would have 
gained in its own right. Hence we can best observe those 
sensations to whose stimuli we have been especially at- 

D 



34 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

tentive. We avoid any interference with the workings 
of consciousness by postponing our observation of the 
process which we wish to examine until after it has run 
its full course, and the stimulus which occasioned it has 
ceased to affect us. We then call it back, look at it from 
all points of view, and dissect it. Introspective examina- 
tion must be 2. post mortem examination. 

A comparison may help to make the meaning of the rule clear. 
We may Hken the consciousness upon which the stimulus works 
to sealing-wax, and the stimulus itself to the signet stone impressed 
upon it. Attention prepares the mind for the reception of an 
impression, as the heating of the wax prepares it for the signet ; 
and the more attentive we are to the stimulus, the deeper is the 
impression which it makes upon us. The impression once made, 
the wax hardens : we can recall the sensation, scrutinise it, trace 
the course which it followed, etc., — just as we can hold up the 
hardened seal to the light, note the pattern, the flaws in the wax, 
etc., in a way which is impossible during the stage of softness, 
when the stone produces its greatest effect. 

But this introspection, it may well be said, cannot fur- 
nish very reliable results. The individual can apply the 
method to one consciousness only — his own ; and we all 
know how easy it is for a single observer to make mis- 
takes, and how necessary to have more witnesses than 
one, if a fact is to be securely established. There is no 
guarantee that other individuals would come to the same 
conclusion, from an examination of their consciousnesses ; 
and no means of comparing the conclusions reached by 
different individuals under similar circumstances. 

The first objection is unanswerable. But although we 
can never apply the introspective method to any conscious- 
ness except our own, we can arrange matters so that other 



§ 9- The Method of Investigating Sensation 35 

individuals may be brought forward as witnesses to the 
facts which we ourselves have observed. This end is 
attained by the employment of the method under experi- 
mental conditions. 

An experiment is a trial, test, or observation, carefully 
made under certain special conditions: the object of the 
conditions being (i) to render it possible for any one who 
will to repeat the test, in the exact manner in which it was 
first performed, and (2) to help the observer to rule out 
disturbing influences during his observation, and so to get 
at the desired result in a pnre form. If we say precisely 
how we have worked, other investigators can go through 
the same processes, and judge whether our conclusion is 
right or wrong ; and if we do the work in a fitting place, 
with fitting instruments, without hurry or interruption, 
guarding against any influence which is foreign to the 
matter in hand, and which might conceivably alter our 
observation, we may be sure of obtaining 'pure' results, 
results which follow directly from the conditions laid down 
by us, and are not due to the operation of any unforeseen 
or unregulated causes. Experiment thus secures accuracy 
of observation, and the connection of every result with its 
own conditions ; while it enables observers in all parts of 
the world to work together upon one and the same psycho- 
logical problem. 

The psychological experiment does not differ in any 
essential respect from the experiments of the other 
sciences, — physics, physiology, etc. There is always the 
one difference already mentioned : while a newly discov- 
ered insect or a rare mineral can be packed in a box, and 
sent by one investigator to another in a distant country, 
the psychologist can never put his consciousness in any 



36 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

similar way at the disposal of his fellow-psychologist. 
But the difference is a minor difference : it does not ex- 
tend to the nature and function of the experiment itself, 
— it does not impair the accuracy of psychological results 
or prevent community of psychological investigation. 

The rule of experimental introspection, in the sphere of 
sensation, runs as follows : Have yourself placed under such 
conditions that there is as little likelihood as possible of ex- 
ternal interference with the test to be made. Attend to the 
stimulus, and, ivhen it is removed, recall the sensation by 
an act of memory. Give a verbal account of the processes 
constituting your consciousness of the stimidus. The ac- 
count must be written down by the assistant, who has 
arranged for you the conditions under which the test is to 
be made. His description of the conditions, and your 
description of the experience, furnish data from which 
other psychologists can work. 

In whichever form it is employed, the introspective method 
demands the exercise of memory. Care must therefore be taken 
to work with memory at its best : the interval of time which 
elapses between experience and the account of experience must 
not be so short that memory has not time to recover the experi- 
ence, or so long that the experience has become faded and blurred. 
In its experimental form, introspection demands further an exact 
use of language. The terms chosen to describe the experience 
must be definite, sharp, and concrete. The conscious process is 
like a fresco, painted in great sweeps of colour and with all sorts 
of intermediary and mediating lights and shades : words are little 
blocks of stone, to be used in the composition of a mosaic. If we 
are required to represent the fresco by a mosaic, we must see to 
it that our blocks be of small size and of every obtainable tint and 
hue. Otherwise, our representation will not come very near to 
the original. 



§ lO. Rides for Introspection of Sensation ^'j 

Introspection is the sole method by which we can in- 
vestigate the facts and laws of sensation. It may be used 
wrongly, as when we try to observe a sensation during its 
progress ; it may be used imperfectly, as when we employ 
it under varying conditions, or give an incomplete account 
of our experience, or work at a time when the memory is 
fatigued ; and it may be used rightly, under experimental 
conditions and safeguards. But, however we use it, it is 
the sole method which we can follow. 

When we pass from the first and second parts to the third part 
of the problem of psychology (§ 4), — when we ask, not what are 
the facts and laws of sensation as revealed by introspection, but 
what are the bodily processes which accompany sensation pro- 
cesses, — we must, of course, accept the account of the body and 
its workings which is offered by physiologists and biologists, and 
which has been obtained by the use of the methods pecuhar to 
physiology and biology. The union of physiological and psycho- 
logical methods for psychophysical purposes has led to the formu- 
lation of a number of ' psychophysical methods.' Since we, as 
psychologists, are using psychophysics only as means to an end, 
as an aid to our understanding of mind, it is unnecessary for us to 
give a full and detailed statement of psychophysical methods in 
this book. Many of them will be briefly indicated in the Sections 
in which we enquire into the bodily concomitants of the elemental 
conscious processes. 

§ 10. General Rules for the Introspection of Sensation. — 

The ' experimental conditions ' which are necessary to 
render the results of introspection scientifically valuable 
will, of course, differ in the case of different sensations. 
The rules which apply in the sense of sight do not hold, 
without modification, in that of hearing. But there are 
certain conditions which must always be regarded, in 
whatever department of sensation we are working : or, to 



38 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

put the matter from the other side, there are certain errors 
to which we are always hable, and which we must con- 
stantly guard against 

(i) When we introspect, we must be absolutely im- 
partial and unprejudiced. We must not let ourselves be 
biassed by any preconceived idea. We are likely to think 
that, in all probability, a certain thing will happen, or we 
may actually want to obtain a given result, to confirm 
some view which we have already formed. In either case, 
we are in danger of mistaken observation. We ought to 
be ready to take the facts precisely as they are. 

Impartiality is a necessary condition of all scientific observation. 
We observe because we are interested in the result of our observa- 
tion : some chance occurrence has suggested to us an explanation 
of particular events, and we are interested to discover, by system- 
atic enquiry, whether the explanation is correct. The trained 
observer, psychologist or physicist or what not, can take the sug- 
gestion for what it is worth ; he does not allow it to affect his 
observation. But the beginner is exceedingly liable to be led by 
interest into partiality ; and so to see, not what really happens,, 
but what he desires or expects to see happen. 

Impartiality in psychological investigations, however, is pecul- 
iarly difficult. In most sciences, the danger of partiality begins 
after a few accidental observations have suggested a certain view. 
In the case of (i) animal and child psychology, the bias may 
exist before any observation has been made at all, and all obser- 
vations, from the very first, be vitiated by it. Mother and nurse 
find intelligence in the baby when the disinterested observer can 
see nothing out of the common ; and lovers of animals tell wonder- 
ful tales of the intelligence of their special pets. In the case of 
(2) adult human psychology, bias may also be prior to any obser- 
vation. A certain resoluteness and evenness of disposition, a moral 
steadiness and balance, are required of the introspective psychol- 
ogist. It is not only that " what ardently we wish we soon be- 



§ 10. Rides for Introspection of Sensation 39 

lieve " : the chemist runs that danger equally with the psychologist. 
It is rather that the objects of investigation are intrinsically elusive, 
that their investigation demands both quickness and accuracy, and 
that the observer has to forget all social relations and take up a 
sturdily independent attitude to facts which are, in part at least 
(§ 2), of his own making. Many people are too complaisant, too 
reflective (letting reflection about experience take the place of 
experience itself), too impressionable, etc., to be impartial. 

To get at facts, we must be wholly unprejudiced : interested in 
the general subject, but not concerned to estabhsh a particular 
result. 

(2) When we introspect, we must have our attention 
under control. The attention must not be permitted 
either to flag or to wander. 

The reasons for this rule have been given above. The better 
we attend to an occurrence, the more accurate and lasting is our 
memory of it. 

It is difficult for the beginner to control his attention. In the 
first place, he has not learned by experience what exactly it is that 
he is required to attend to, and so is liable to be distracted by 
what are really accidental and irrelevant stimuli. And when this 
difficulty is overcome, there is still the danger that the attention 
may wander or flag. The observer will be apt to interrupt his 
introspection, asking himself whether he is carrying out instruc- 
tions, whether his attention is at full strain, what is the meaning 
of this or that condition of the experiment, etc. Practice is the 
only remedy for these faults j and even practice cannot secure an 
unflagging attention, if the observation be too long continued. 

(3) When we introspect, body and mind must be fresJi. 

Fatigue and exhaustion prevent any sustained concentration of 
the attention. We cannot attend if we are sleepy, or if we have 
worked our muscles to the state of pain and stiffness. And if we 
cannot attend, we cannot introspect. 

It follows that we can introspect best in the morning ; or, if 



40 Sensatioji as a Conscious Element 

morning hours are not available, in the late afternoon, after re- 
freshment by moderate exercise. Introspection should not be 
attempted immediately after eating, /.<?., at a time when we are 
normally sleepy. It follows also (i) that if a psychological investi- 
gation promises to be at all long, we should work upon it rather 
for a short time daily during a number of days than for any length 
of time together during a few days, and (2) that we should work 
at the same hour of each day. The first rule provides against 
fatigue during a single sitting, the second keeps the conditions of 
freshness and tiredness constant from day to day. 

(4) When we introspect, our ge7ieral disposition^ physi- 
cal and mental, should be favourable. We must feel well, 
feel comfortable, feel good-tempered, and feel interested 
in the subject. 

Any physical or mental discomfort hinders introspection : breath- 
lessness, a cold in the head, a too hot room, a strained attitude 
of the body (as when one sits in a low chair at a high table) ; or 
irritation at having to work at this particular time, self-conscious- 
ness, nervousness (anxiety as to whether one is working correctly, 
as well as one's neighbour, etc.), impatience, disbelief in the value 
of the special experiment, dislike of those with whom one is asso- 
ciated to perform it, the disregard which comes from frequent 
repetition of a certain act of introspection and the contempt which 
is bred by familiarity with its conditions, etc. It is difficult to 
be sure that our results are obtained under the most favourable 
conditions of physical and mental disposition ; but no others are 
really trustworthy. 

These are the most important of the general rules to be 
followed in introspection. Can we ever be quite sure 
that we have followed them } 

Even when we think that all possible precautions have 
been taken, it must often be the case that certain of the 
required conditions are left unfulfilled. However favour- 
able the general disposition, e.g.^ and however trained the 



§ lo. Rules for Introspection of Sensation 41 

power of observation, there may still be some unnoticed 
wavering of the attention, some unsuspected tinge of pre- 
conceived opinion. While, therefore, we may reasonably 
hope to get perfectly correct results in many instances, we 
cannot be sure that the single result of any particular 
experiment is entirely free from error. Now there is a 
method, employed both in science and in practical life, 
which helps us to set up a working standard, a norm with 
which all individual results may be compared, under the 
most various and fluctuating circumstances : the method 
of averages. We make a large number of observations, 
and take their average. This mean result will not repre- 
sent the observer at his very best, but will indicate the 
normal or average performance which may be expected of 
him when the conditions under which he observes are as 
favourable as human nature can make and keep them. 
The average lies, i.e., somewhere between the result 
obtained under absolutely favourable conditions and that 
gained under conditions which just fall short of being en- 
tirely favourable. The more highly trained the observer, 
the greater his impartiality, and the better his general dis- 
position, the more nearly will the average approach to 
the ideal standard. 

The method of averages is always employed in psycho- 
logical experimentation. Oftentimes the average is brought 
exceedingly near the ideal result by the fact that the errors 
of the separate experiments cancel one another when the 
average is struck, — as many falling on the plus side as 
fall upon the minus side. 

The * facts ' of the psychology of sensation are, then, 
average results obtained from observers trained in intro- 
spection under experimental conditions of both a general 



42 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

and a special character. The former we have learned to 
know as impartiality, attention, freshness, and favourable 
disposition. The latter we shall discuss (under the head- 
ing of Method) in following chapters. 

§ II. The Classification of Sensations. — Every sensation 
comes to us from a definite bodily organ. We may there- 
fore divide sensations into groups or classes, according to 
the various sense-organs which the body possesses, and 
speak of eye sensations, ear sensations, nose sensations, 
skin sensations, muscle sensations, joint sensations, etc. 

This list, if completed, would be perfectly accurate. 
But it is convenient to make some further divisions and 
subdivisions, which are justified by differences in the nat- 
ure of the stimuli necessary to arouse sensations of certain 
kinds. Classification by siimnlns^ in addition to the classi- 
fication by sense-organs, is useful in two ways, 

(i) Sensations in general fall into two principal groups, 
according as their stimulus is external (originating outside 
the body) or internal (originating within the body). Light, 
the stimulus to vision, is an external stimulus ; muscular 
contraction, the stimulus to muscular sensation, is an in- 
ternal stimulus. We therefore distinguish between sen- 
sations of the special senses, which are stimulated from 
without, and oi'ganic sensations, the stimulus to which 
consists in a certain state, or change of state, of the inter- 
nal bodily organ from which they come. There is one, 
and only one, sensation quality which is common to every 
department of sense, whether external or internal : the 
quality of pain. We shall therefore speak of pain as a 
coninio7i sensation. 

(2) The nature of the stimulus may differ within the 
same sense. Light is the stimulus to sensations from the 



§ II. Classification of Sensations 43 

eye. But the physicist recognises two kinds of light, — 
white or mixed light, and pure or coloured light (light of 
one wave-length or of one vibration-rate); and we have 
two corresponding groups of sensations, — sensations of 
brightness (black, grey, white), and sensations of colour. 
Sound is the stimulus of hearing : but sound may be pro- 
duced both by a single shock or concussion of the air and 
by an air-wave ; and we have two corresponding types of 
auditory sensation, — the simple noise (shock), and the 
simple tone (wave). 

Our list will, then, take final shape as follows. To 
realise the part played in mind by the different groups 
of sensations, the reader must compare it with the corre- 
sponding list of § 22. 

I. Sensations of the Special Senses (external stimulus) . 

1. Visual sensations. 

a. Sensations of brightness (stimulus : mixed light). 

b. Sensations of colour (stimulus : homogeneous or pure 

light). 

2. Auditory sensations. 

a. Sensations of noise (stimulus : sound concussion or shock). 

b. Sensations of tone (stimulus : sound-wave). 

3. Olfactory sensations (stimulus : odorous particles carried 

by a draught of air) . 

4. Gustatory sensations ("Stimulus : the chemical constitution 

of certain substances, which enables them to excite the 
organs of taste) . 

5. Cutaneous sensations. 

a. Sensations of pressure (stimulus : mechanical affection 

of the skin) . 

b. Sensations of temperature (stimulus : thermal affection 

of the skin) . 

II. Organic Sensations (internal stimulus). 

6. Muscular sensations (stimulus : contraction of muscle). 



44 Sensation as a Conscious Element 

7. Tendinous sensations (stimulus : pull or strain upon 

tendon). 

8. Articular sensations (stimulus : rubbing or jamming to- 

gether of surfaces of joint). 

9. Sensations from the ahmentary canal. 

a. From the pharynx (stimulus : dryness of mucous 

membrane) . 

b. From the oesophagus (stimulus : antiperistaltic reflex) . 

c. From the stomach (stimulus : dryness of gastric mucous 

membrane). 

10. Circulatory sensations (stimulus: change in circulation). 

11. Respiratory sensations (stimulus : change in breathing). 

12. Sexual sensations (stimulus: change in blood-supply, or 

in secretory activity, of the sex organs) . 

13. Sensation of the ^static sense ' (stimulus: change in the 

distribution of pressure from the water of the semicir- 
cular canals of the internal ear) . 
III. Common Sensation (external or internal stimulus). 



CHAPTER III 

The Quality of Sensation 
I. Sensations of Special Sense 

§ 12. The Quality of Visual Sensations. — The stimulus 
to vision is light. Physical theory regards light as a 
wave movement in the ether with which space is filled. 
Light is either mixed or pure (homogeneous) : mixed, if 
it consists of waves of every possible length, travelling 
together ; and pure (homogeneous), if its waves are all 
of the same length. Mixed light always excites the sen- 
sation of brightness ; a single pure light, the sensation of 
some colour. 

( I ) Sensatio7ts of Brightness. — We have only five 
names, in ordinary conversation, to indicate different 
kinds or qualities of brightness : black, white, grey, dark 
grey and light grey. When put to a rigid test, however, 
the eye is found to be capable of distinguishing 700 bright- 
ness qualities, varying from the deepest black to the most 
brilliant white. 

The method by which we determine the number of brightness 
qualities is as follows. Four circular pieces (discs) of cardboard 
are prepared, two of dead black and two of white. A cut is 
made in each, from outer edge to centre, so that a black and a 
white can be fitted together, and a white sector, of any desired 
width, laid over the black surface. The backs of the discs are 
divided up into degrees and fractions of degrees, in order that the 

45 




46 The Quality of Sensation 

amount of white which replaces the original black in a particular 

experiment may be accurately measured. 

For purposes of experiment, the discs are mounted in pairs — a 

white behind a black — upon 'colour wheels,' which allow of their 

rapid rotation. When 
the discs are combined 
in this way, presenting 
a black and white sur- 
face, and are rapidly 
rotated, they give rise 
to a sensation of grey 
(§ 24). The object of 

the first experiment is 
Fig. 3. — Two discs, cut for mounting upon 

^u 1 u 1 T-u X?- V, 4.U to discover, by the com- 

the colour wheel, ihe rigure shows the ' •' 

way in which they are fitted together for parison of an all-black 
rotation. disc with a surface in 

which there is a shght 
trace of white, what mixture of black and white is just different in 
sensation from dead black ; the object of the second, to discover 
what amount of white must be added to black to make a grey just 
different in sensation from the grey of the first mixture ; and so 
on. Each of these 'just different ' brightness sensations is a 
conscious element. 

The sensation of brightness (black, grey, white) is pro- 
duced id) by the action of mixed light upon the retina or 
nervous network (Latin rete, net) of the eye. It can also 
be produced (p) by the mixture of certain pairs of pure 
lights, — red and bluish green, orange and blue, yellow 
and indigo-blue, greenish yellow and violet (the ' comple- 
mentary ' colours) ; and (<:) by the mixture, in proper pro- 
portions, of three pure lights, properly selected (red, green 
and violet, or red, yellow and blue, etc.). 

(2) Sensations of Colour. — The colours of the solar 
spectrum, which may be taken as standard or normal 



§ 12. The Quality of Visual Sensations 47 

colours, are named : red, orange, yellow, green, blue, 
indigo-blue and violet. To these may be added purple, 
a colour compounded of red and violet, and lying for sen- 
sation midway between these qualities. Purple is com- 
plementary to spectral green ; and also produces the 
sensation of brightness when mixed with yellow and blue. 
We speak further of reddish orange, greenish blue, etc. 
There are thus some twenty-five words and phrases in 
ordinary use as names of the spectral colours.^ But here 
again, the eye, when placed under experimental conditions, 
is found to distinguish far better than language does : we 
can discriminate, if the purples are included in the sum, 
about 150 spectral colour qualities. 

Method. — Two entirely similar spectra are thrown upon a wall, 
one lying directly above the other. The upper spectrum is then 
shut off from view by a black screen, in which a narrow upright 
slit is cut ; nothing is seen of it, therefore, but a single line of 
colour, — say, of red, — coming through the slit. A similar screen, 
with a similar slit, is placed over the lower spectrum. The ob- 
server moves this second screen to and fro, until the line of red 
appearing through its slit is just different in sensation from the 
hne of red seen through the slit of the upper screen. The lower 
slit is then left in place, and the upper screen moved until another 
just different red is obtained. The lower screen is thereupon 
moved again, — and so on, until the whole band of colours has 
been passed over ; each in turn, as it shows through the slit, be- 
ing compared with the next preceding colour quality. Every 
^ just different ' colour is a conscious element. 

Colour sensations, of a quite simple nature, but different 
from the colours of the spectral series, are produced by the 

1 Red, reddish orange, orange-red, orange, orange-yellow, yellowish orange, 
yellow, yellowish green, greenish yellow, green, greenish blue, bluish green, 
blue, indigo-blue, bluish violet, indigo-violet, violet-blue, violet, purplish violet, 
violet-purple, purple, purplish red, reddish purple, violet-red, reddish violet. 



48 The Quality of Sensation 

mixture of mixed with pure light. Thus pink results from 
the mixing of red and white ; brown from that of black 
and yellow ; mauve from that of purple and white. Each 
of the 150 spectral colours may be combined in this way 
with each of the 700 brightness qualities. But the more 
white or black we mix with a colour, the harder does it 
become to distinguish that colour from other colours. 
Hence, instead of having 150x700 colour sensations of 
this mixed origin, we have only about 150x200, or 
30,000. 

Method. — Two spectra are thrown on a wall, as before. The 
two screens are so adjusted as to show precisely the same line of 
colour — say, of red — in both spectra. The light from which 
the lower spectrum is taken is then slowly brightened, until its red 
line is just lighter (pinker) than the red line of the upper spec- 
trum. Thereupon the upper light is brightened, till its red line 
is of a just lighter quality than the pink of the lower spectrum. 
The process is repeated, until one of the originally red lines is so 
highly illuminated that the red is lost, and only white is visible. 
The reverse method is then followed, each red line being darkened 
in turn, until one of the reds becomes black. 

Every one of the 150 spectral qualities must be lightened and 
darkened in this way, until the full number of ^ just lighter ' and 
* just darker ' colours has been made out. 

We possess, therefore, about 700 + 1 50 4- 30,000 quali- 
ties of visual sensation : we have to search in the structure 
and function of the eye for the conditions of some 30,850 
conscious elements. For the qualities are all equally 
elemental as sensations, however different the physical 
processes (stimuli) with which they are connected. 

Various explanations have been offered, by physiologists 
and psychologists, of the changes set up in the eye by the 
action of light. It is impossible, in the present state of our 



§ 12. The Quality of Visual Sensations 49 

knt)wledge, to say decisively what the conditions of visual 
sensations are. We may, perhaps, suppose that light which 
falls upon the retina gives rise to two processes of chem- 
ical decomposition : one of them (the achromatic process) 
dependent upon the intensity of the light (the ' height ' or 
amplitude of the light-wave), and the other (the chromatic 
process) upon its wave-length. To the former corre- 
sponds the sensation of brightness, to the latter that of 
colour. We must further suppose that when waves of 
certain different lengths are mixed, — waves of all possible 
lengths, waves of three lengths (properly selected and 
proportioned), and waves of two lengths (if these are com- 
plementary), — their undulations cancel one another; so 
that we have no sensation or colour (connected with the 
chromatic process), but only a sensation of brightness 
(connected with the achromatic process). 

It must be carefully noted that although the achromatic process 
is excited by the intensity of a light stimulus, the sensations con- 
nected with it — black, white, grey — - differ in quality. We shall 
return to the point later (§ 24). 

The various sets of three pure Hghts (red, green and violet ; 
red, yellow and blue ; orange, green and violet ; purple, — we haVe 
admitted purple to the rank of a spectral colour, — yellow and 
blue, etc.) which, when mixed in certain proportions, arouse the 
sensation of brightness, will, if mixed in certain other proportions, 
arouse that of colour : and it is possible, by varying the propor- 
tions, to get from each set of three all the different colour quali- 
ties. But red, green and violet give far richer and more brilliant 
colours, when rightly combined, than do any other three qualities. 
Hence these are known as the primary colours of the spectrum. 

There are four spectral colours which are of especial interest in 
practical life: green, blue (§ 5), red and yellow. Red is the 
colour of blood (Skt. riidhira, Icel. rothra, blood) ; yellow is the 
pale colour of young vegetation (Gk. y\oy], ^(XcDpos), and thus has 



50 The Quality of Sensation 

the same significance, derivatively, as green. These four colours 
are known as the principal colours of the spectrum. We are no 
longer interested in them for the reasons which drew the attention 
of primitive man to them ; but they are of such great impor- 
tance in painting that the term ' principal ' is still in place. They 
are no simpler, as conscious processes, than the other colour 
qualities. 

The word '■ mixture ' in this Section means always mixture of 
lights, and not of pigments (paints) . Mixture of blue and orange 
hght gives a sensation of grey : mixture of blue and orange paints 
gives a sensation of green. The blue pigment crystals let through 
blue and green light, the orange crystals orange, yellow and green 
light. The blue and orange cancel each other, and only a yellow- 
ish green is left to be seen. 

§ 13. The Quality of Auditory Sensations. — The stimulus 
to hearing is sound. From the physical point of viev^, 
sound is a movement of the air particles. The movement 
may be continued and regular (sound-wave) or momentary 
(shock or concussion) ; or it may consist of mixtures of 
waves and shocks, or of successions of shocks. A sound- 
wave excites the sensation of tone ; a mere concussion, or 
a wave movement of less than two complete undulations, 
the sensation of simple noise. The other forms of air 
movement are connected with complex auditory processes. 

What we commonly call the ' pitch * or ' height ' of 
tones is their psychological ' quality.' Differences in the 
quality of simple noises may also be conveniently ex- 
pressed by these terms, although they are ordinarily em- 
ployed only with reference to tone. 

(i) Sensations of Tone. — We speak of tones as 'high' 
and 'low,' 'harsh' and 'clear,' 'shrill' and 'mellow'; 
and we distinguish ' thin ' tones from tones which possess 
' volume,' etc. We also have symbolic names for the 



§ 13. The Quality of Auditory Sensations 51 

twelve tones comprised within each of the seven octaves 
of the musical scale: (ffl, ^*, bV, d^^%, a^^, etc. When 
accurately tested, however, the ear is found to be master 
of a much wider range of tones than language indicates ; 
we can hear about 11,000 different tones. 

Method. — One of two precisely similar tuning-forks has its tone 
lowered or ' flatted ' a little by the attachment of a small weight 
to each of its prongs. The forks are struck, one after the other, 
at an interval of a few seconds, and the listener is required to say 
whether their tones seem to him alike or different. The flatting 
is increased, until he finds the tones just different. Then the 
weighted fork is taken as standard, and the other weighted a little 
more heavily, — until its tone appears just different from (flatter 
than) the slightly lowered tone of the first experiment. The tests 
are repeated upon a large number of forks of different natural 
pitch, so that no tone quality which can possibly be sensed is 
missed. It will be found in this way that tone sensations furnish 
the 11,000 conscious elements mentioned above. 

(2) Sensations of Simple Noise. — Language has sev- 
eral words, to express different kinds of simple noises : 
snap, rap, tap, puff, pop, shock, crack, flick, thud, etc. 
We also use various adjectives to indicate various noise 
qualities : * sharp ' crack, ' dull ' thud, etc. As usual, how- 
ever, the sense-organ can draw finer distinctions than are 
drawn by language: we can discriminate some 550 quali- 
ties of simple noise. 

Method. — If a tuning-fork is struck, and more than two of the 
air-waves which its vibration occasions are allowed to reach the 
ear, we hear a tone. If less than two complete undulations are 
heard, — the rest being cut off from the sense-organ by the drop- 
ping of a sound-proof screen between it and the fork, — we get 
a sensation not of tone but of simple noise. 

Two forks are taken, as in the previous experiment. Let us 



52 The Quality of Sensation 

suppose that one vibrates 128 times in the i sec, and the other 
(the flatted fork) 126 times. The former is sounded for some- 
thing less than yf^ sec, and the latter for something less than 
yf g- sec. ; and the observer notes whether the two noises are of 
like or different quality (height or pitch) . If they are alike, the 
experimenter flats the flatted fork still further, until the observer 
remarks a difference in noise quality. A record is then made ; 
and the experiment proceeds as in the case of tones. 

Most of the noises which we are accustomed to hear (crash, 
roar, hiss, rattle, splash, clatter, etc) are of a complex nature, 
comprising several simple noises or a number of these mixed with 
tones. 

Sound is received into the outer passage of the ear, 
conveyed inw^ards by a series of vibrating bodies (elastic 
membrane, chain of small bones, etc.), and finally produces 
a movement in the w^ater (endolymph) of the cochlea of 
the internal ear. The cochlea is a hollow tube, through 
the v^hole length of v^hich is stretched a membrane, the 
basilar membrane. The cross-fibres of this membrane are 
arranged like the strings upon the backboard of a piano ; 
they are very short at the beginning (treble strings) and 
gradually increase in length as the membrane continues 
(bass strings). Each cross-fibre carries sensitive cells, 
v^ith which the fibrils of the auditory nerve are connected. 
A movement of the water in the tube excites the cells 
standing upon particular strings or cross-fibres. Only 
those strings are affected, in a given case, whose vibra- 
tions correspond to the sound outside the ear which 
causes the movement of the water. Every string may 
thus be said to be ' tuned ' to a certain sound-wave. 

We may illustrate this process by supposing that the top of an 
upright piano is turned back, and a word shouted into the body 
of the instrument. The piano is * set ringing ' ; certain strings are 



§ 14- The Quality of Olfactory Sensations 53 

thrown into vibration, because the speaking voice contained cer- 
tain tones to which those strings are ' tuned.' Different strings 
respond, according as the word is pitched high or low. 

The sensation of tone arises when a fibre of the basilar 
membrane is made to vibrate regularly by more than two 
successive wave movements of the endolymph ; that of 
noise, when a fibre gives a jerk or twitch, in answer to 
a single push or less than two complete wave movements 
of the endolymph. Physically, therefore, a simple noise 
is merely an imperfect tone. There is no sharp line of 
division between the stimuli : two complete wave move- 
ments will give rise now to one and now to the other 
sensation. The sensations themselves are, however, quite 
distinct. 

§ 14. The Quality of Olfactory Sensations. — Smells are 
ordinarily classified as agreeable and disagreeable, and 
named after the objects which give rise to them (musk, 
violet, etc.) without regard to their likeness or unlikeness 
in sensation. It is impossible, in the present state of our 
knowledge, to say how many qualities of smell the nose 
can distinguish. In all probability the number is very 
large. It is also probable that smells fall into groups 
of similar qualities, and that the members of each group 
form graded series, like those of tone or brightness. 

Method. — Prepare a number of solutions of odoriferous sub- 
stances. Close one nostril with cotton-wool, and sniif at a solution 
until you can smell it no longer. This will soon happen, as the 
nose is easily fatigued. Then sniff at another. If this is smelled, 
its quality differs from that of the first solution ; if you cannot 
smell it, its scent is the same as the scent for which the nose has 
been fatigued. If you exhaust the sense of smell by tincture of 
iodine, you will find that you can still smell oil of lavender, but 



54 The Quality of Sensation 

that you cannot smell alcohol at all. If you fatigue the nose with 
ammonium sulphide, you will still be able to smell oil of anise, oil 
of turpentine, oil of lemon and eau de Cologne ; but you will be 
unable to smell sulphuretted hydrogen, hydrochloric acid ( 7 parts 
of concentrated solution to 50 of water) and bromine (yo% solu- 
tion). These facts mean that the quality or complex of qualities 
in tincture of iodine is entirely different from that of oil of lav- 
ender, but contains or is contained in the alcohol quality or quali- 
ties. And so with the ammonium sulphide. 

The method assumes that the sensitive cells, set in the mucous 
membrane of the nose, respond some to one quality of scent and 
some to another, so that when one cell-group is exhausted, 
others are still fresh. The assumption seems to be justified by 
the results of experiments upon taste (§ 15) : the organs of the 
two senses are very similar. 

Substantives like ' scent,' ' odour,' ' perfume,' ^ bouquet,' and 
adjectives like ' aromatic,' ' fragrant,' * redolent,' ' savoury,' are 
either quite general terms (corresponding to * bright,' '■ colour,' 
'flavour,' in other sense departments) or refer to objects grouped 
together for practical purposes (cookery, the toilet, etc.). They 
do not help us towards a psychological classification of smell 
qualities. 

§ 15. The Quality of Gustatory Sensations. — There are 
four qualities of taste : sweet, bitter, acid and salt. All 
the other ' tastes ' of which we speak in everyday life are 
complex perceptions. 

Thus the ' taste ' of lemonade is made up of a sweet taste, an 
acid taste, a scent (the fragrance of lemon), a sensation of tem- 
perature and a pricking (cutaneous) sensation. The ' taste ' of 
lime-water is made up of a weakly sweet taste, a sensation of 
nausea (common sensation), a sensation of temperature and a 
biting (cutaneous) sensation. The ' taste ' of tea is made up of a 
bitter taste, a scent, a temperature sensation and an astringent 
(cutaneous) sensation. 'Tea tasters' and ^wine tasters* should 
rather be called * tea ' and ' wine smellers.' 



§ 15- The Quality of Gustatory Settsations 55 

Sensations of brightness, colour, noise, tone and (prob- 
ably) smell form unbroken series of qualities. We can 
pass gradually from black to white, through intermediate 
shades of grey ; we can pass from bass to treble, without 
any break or interruption of the scale, etc. The sensations 
of taste, on the contrary, do not constitute a series ; * sweet ' 
is not in any way nearer or more like ' acid ' than it is like 
*salt.' Each of the four qualities stands out distinctly 
by itself, so that if we did not know that all four came 
from the tongue, we might be disposed to think that they 
belonged to separate senses. 

Tastes, however, resemble visual sensations in the fact 
that they contrast with one another. A red seen upon a 
bluish green background seems redder than would other- 
wise be the case ; and white seen after black seems more 
brilliant. So an acid seems more sour after a sweet ; and 
salt and sweet, if applied at the same time to different 
parts of the tongue, are salter and sweeter than they would 
be if sensed singly. 

Method. — Seat yourself before a concave (enlarging) mirror, 
and put your tongue out. You will notice that the pink skin of 
the tip is dotted with redder, darker, and more transparent-looking 
flecks. These are the papiltce fiingiformes, little folds of mucous 
membrane, in which are planted the sensitive cells forming the 
organs of the nerve of taste. Dip fine camel's-hair brushes into 
the solutions which you wish to test, and apply them carefully to 
single papillae. The tongue must be dried, to prevent the solution 
from ' running ' ; and the nose closed, to prevent any interference 
of smell with taste proper. You will find that the only sensations 
obtainable are those of sweet, bitter, acid, and (weakly) salt. 

To test contrast, fill the mouth with a sour solution ; then spit 
this out, and fill with a sweet liquid : or brush sweet on one side 
of the tip of the tongue, and salt on the other. To prove the 



56 The Quality of Sensation 

absence of simultaneous contrast in the domain of smell, place 
tubes containing different scents in the two nostrils, and sniif. 
You will either have a single smell throughout the experiment ; or 
the two smells will be sensed alternately, neither affecting the 
other. It is doubtful whether there is a successive smell contrast. 
Tones and noises do not contrast with one another when simul- 
taneously heard ; and probably do not, when heard successively. 
Musical contrast is affective (§ 56), not sensible. 

§ 16. The Quality of Cutaneous Sensations. — The skin 
can be stimulated both mechanically (by pressure, a blow, 
tickling, etc.) and thermally (by the application to it of hot 
and cold objects). 

( I ) Sensations co7inected zvitJi Mechanical Stimulation. — 
In the spheres of sight, hearing and smell there are far more 
sensation qualities than there are names to indicate them. 
On the other hand, language is rich in names for ' tastes ' ; 
but these names indicate, not simple sensation qualities, 
but mental processes which are really of a complex nature, 
and arise from the excitation of two or more senses. The 
mechanical cutaneous sense resembles that of taste in this 
respect. We are apt to speak of ' sensations ' of touch, 
resistance, impact, pain, tickling, etc., and to think of them 
as coming to us exclusively through the skin. In reality, 
these processes are all mixtures of cutaneous and organic 
sensations. There is only one quality of the mechanical 
cutaneous sense : the qimlity oi J^ressnre. 

(i) Contact is simply a very light pressure : there is no differ- 
ence of quahty between the two experiences. (2) Hai'dness 
and Softness are primarily differences of the intensity of pressure. 
Often, too, they contain certain of the organic qualities connected 
with bodily movement, and sometimes qualities of temperature (a 
'soft' is either a 'clammy' or a 'warm soft'). (3) Sharpness 
and Bluntness are primarily differences of the extent of press- 



§ 1 6. The Quality of Cutaneous Sensations 57 

ure. Sharpness often contains in it the common quahty of pain. 
(4) Roughness and Smoothness differ as interrupted and continuous 
extent of pressure. A full appreciation of either requires move- 
ment over the rough or smooth surface : if a rough or smooth ob- 
ject be pressed down upon the passive skin, no difference is sensed 
until the pressure becomes quite intensive. Then the observer 
realises that he has in the one case a continuous sensation of 
uniform intensity (smooth), and in the other a number of severe 
separate pressures, with or without Hght pressure over the inter- 
vening spaces (rough). (5) Wetness and Dryness are easily 
confused, if the conditions of the test allow the skin to remain 
passive. They are likely to differ in temperature : but we or- 
dinarily distinguish them by the different resistance which they 
offer to the moving hand. (6) Resistance is a complex percep- 
tion, containing organic sensations from muscle, sinew and joint, 
in various proportions, as well as the cutaneous quality of pressure. 
(7) Touch is active pressure, i.e., pressure ////i- the organic sensa- 
tions arising from movement. (8) Impact, if the stimulus is 
weak, is a sudden pressure, possibly mixed with the organic sensa- 
tion of tickhng. If the stimulus is strong, other organic sensations 
make their appearance in the perception. In either case, an 
emotion (surprise) is usually present. It is clear that these terms 
are neither all mutually exclusive, nor all sharply defined. 

Many of the complexes resolved here into cutaneous and or- 
ganic qualities also contain, under ordinary circumstances, a vis- 
ual quality, remembered or imagined. Thus the differentiation of 
pressure and contact depends not infrequently on the fact that 
when we are pressed with any degree of force we can imagine what 
the object is which presses us, whereas contact (very light pressure) 
carries with it no visual idea of its stimulus. 

Analysis, then, justifies our statement that there is only one 
quality of the mechanical cutaneous cause, the quality oi pressure. 

Method. — Go over a portion of the skin very carefully with a 
pointed pencil of cork or pith. If you press lightly, you will find 
that there are certain spots from which you get a sharp, well-de- 
fined pressure sensation, while the intervening spaces are insensi- 
tive. If you press harder, you will receive more intensive pressure 



58 The Quality of Sensation 

sensations from the '■ pressure-spots,' and a dull, diffused pressure 
sensation from the intervening spaces, which were insensitive to 
less severe stimulation. 

The * pressure-spots ' occur where a sensory nerve-fibril termi- 
nates in the ctitis ; where there are no nerves, the skin is insensi- 
tive. The dull sensation arising from intensive pressure upon 
insensitive areas is due to the spread of stimulation from the 
point pressed to neighbouring ^pressure-spots.' There is no dif- 
ference in quality between the ' sharp ' and * dull ' pressure sensa- 
tions. 

(2) Sensations connected with Thermal Stimulation. — 
Language and scientific observation are here in agreement. 
Both alike recognise two qualities of the thermal cuta- 
neous sense : heat and cold. We may lay it down as a 
general rule that any stimulus whose temperature is above 
34° C. (the average natural temperature of the healthy 
skin) gives rise to a sensation of heat, and that all stimuli 
below that temperature give rise to sensations of cold. 

Method. — Take a hollow metal tube, brought to a sharp point 
at its lower end. Fill it with hot or cold water, and pass it lightly 
over a portion of the skin. Move slowly, but be careful not to 
fatigue the sense-organ. You will find that cold sensations, of 
very definite extent, flash out in response to the cold stimulus ; 
while the hot point reveals definite spots or areas of the skin 
which are sensitive to warmth. Sometimes the same cutaneous 
spot will answer to stimulation both by heat and cold. The inter- 
vening spaces are insensitive to temperature. 

The sensitive areas — ' hot ' and ' cold spots ' — of the skin are 
always found in the neighbourhood of blood-vessels. Like the 
pressure-spots, they only occur where a sensory nerve-fibril termi- 
nates in the attis. The nerve-ending underlying a pressure-spot, 
however, differs in form from that found beneath a temperature- 
spot. 

The ' internal skin ' of the body, or raucous membrane, appears 



§ I/. Muscular, Tendiiiotts, Articular Sensations 59 

to be sensitive to pressure throughout its whole extent, but insen- 
sitive to temperature from the pharnyx downwards. A sudden 
draught of cold water is, undoubtedly, sensed internally : but 
accurate introspection localises the cold sensation not in the 
stomach, but in the body-wall. That is, the nerve-endings affected 
are the same as those which are reached by external cold-stimuH. 
The investigation of the temperature sense is exceedingly diffi- 
cult, since the skin adapts itself readily to wide differences of out- 
side temperature. Place the two hands in two bowls of cold 
water. Gradually heat the water in which the right hand is laid, 
and cool that in which you have put the left. You can alter the 
temperature of the two waters very considerably, and the two hands 
will still 'feel comfortable.' But now take the left hand out of the 
cooled water, and dip it into the bowl of heated water : the heat 
will seem so great as to be painful to it, though the right hand 
still experiences only an agreeable warmth. The two hands have 
become adapted to different temperatures. 



II. Organic Sensatiojis 

§ 17. The Quality of Muscular, Tendinous and Articular 
Sensations. — In the preceding Sections of this chapter, in 
which we have been dealing with the sensations of the 
special senses, we have taken it for granted that a single 
quality (red, hot, sweet) can be sensed by itself, independ- 
ently of all other qualities. This is not strictly true ; for 
consciousness is always complex, always consists of more 
than one process (§ 43). But it is approximately true. 
We can attend so strongly to one simple impression that 
the sensations set up by other stimuli, active at the same 
time, are for all practical purposes non-existent ; and we 
can, further, arrange the external conditions of our obser- 
vation in such a way as to bring the particular quality into 
unusual prominence. 



6o The Quality of Sensation 

In the sphere of organic sensation, on the other hand, it 
is very difficult to detach any single sensation from those 
which ordinarily accompany it. The simple qualities are 
here so closely woven together that the psychologist does 
not even know what to look for, when he begins his analy- 
sis. And the sense-organs within the body are not sepa- 
rated as are those upon its surface : muscle and tendon, 
e.g., pass directly into each other. Nevertheless, careful 
experiments made during the last few years upon the nor- 
mal individual, and careful observations of pathological 
cases (anaesthesia or insensitiveness of particular internal 
organs), have thrown some light upon the nature of the 
elementary processes included under the general title of 
organic sensations. 

(i) Miiscidar Sensation. — The 'voluntary' (striped) 
muscles of the body are supplied with sensory nerves. 
The fibrils of these nerves terminate among the muscle 
fibres just as the cutaneous nerve-fibrils terminate beneath 
a pressure-spot. Muscular contraction occasions a spe- 
cific sensation, the quality of which is indistinguishable 
from that of cutaneous pressure. Under ordinary circum- 
stances, this quality is too weak to be separately sensed. 

Method. — Lay the arm comfortably upon a table or arm-rest, 
and keep it steady. Render a portion of the skin anaesthetic, by 
cocaine injection, ether spray, etc. Now press hard upon the 
skin, so as to flatten the underlying muscle ; or stimulate the 
muscle electrically by a strong induction current, so that it 
contracts. You will have a faint, dull sensation, the seat of 
which appears to be the muscle. 

When you are aroused from a dream by fright, you will notice 
a pressure in the region of the heart. This pressure is due to an 
abnormal excitability (hyperaesthesia) of the sensory nerves which 
terminate in the cardiac muscle. 



§ 1 7- Muscular^ TeiidijioiLS, Articular Sensations 6i 

Slight muscular fatigue also brings out the specific pressure 
quality of the muscular sensation. 

(2) Tendinous Sensatio7t. — Like the muscles to which 
they are attached, the tendons are supplied with sensory 
nerves. The nerve-endings in tendon, however, are dif- 
ferent in form from those in muscle or skin. The specific 
quality of tendinous sensation is not the quality of press- 
ure, but that of tension or strain. 

Method. — Lay your arm and hand, palm upwards, upon a 
table. Place a small ball, or other round object, in the palm, 
and close the fingers lightly round it. Note carefully the sen- 
sations which you are receiving from hand and arm. Now grasp 
the ball as tightly with the fingers as you can. You obtain, 
almost immediately, a new sensation, that of strain. This sensa- 
tion quality is different from any skin sensation (pressure, heat, 
cold) and from the muscular sensation observed in the preceding 
experiment. 

The new quality might, however, proceed from the joints, since 
in curling your fingers over the ball you have altered the mutual 
pressure of various articular surfaces. You may easily assure 
yourself that it does not. Let your arm hang down loosely by 
your side. Attach a fairly heavy weight by a string to the fore- 
finger. The weight pulls the surfaces of the elbow and other 
joints apart ; so that there is no pressure or friction of one sur- 
face against another. But you soon get the sensation of strain 
throughout the arm. 

If the sensation of strain is different from any sensation obtain- 
able from skin or muscle, and is independent of stimulation of 
the joints, it must come from the tendons. 

(3) Articular Sensation. — The surfaces of the joints 
are richly supplied with sensory nerves, whose endings 
resemble certain of those found in the skin. The quality 
of articular sensation, like that of muscular, is not distin- 
guishable from pressure. But the articular sensation is 



62 The Quality of Sensation 

far more important than the muscular, since (as we shall 
see later, § 46) it is one of the two principal sources from 
which we obtain knowledge of the position or movement 
of the limbs. 

Method.— -T'lQ. a moderately heavy weight by a string to the 
forefinger of the right hand. Lay a soft cushion on the floor, so 
that the striking of the weight upon it will not be heard. Close 
the eyes and lower the hand quickly, till the weight rests upon the 
cushion. At the moment of striking, you experience a push up- 
ward, as if the string had become rigid and were thrust against 
you. The push is localised within the arm. It is due to the 
spring back of the lower against the upper articular surfaces, 
which takes place when the limb is released from the pull of 
the weight. It can only be described as a pressure sensation. 

§ 18. The Quality of the Alimentary Sensations. — Here 

we seem to find at least three new qualities : those of 
hunger, thirst and nausea. Each of these experiences is 
complex ; but each appears to contain, in addition to sen- 
sations of pressure and temperature, a specific quality. 

(i) Hunger is localised in the stomach. When the stomach 
has digested a mass of food, its walls begin to dry, and fall into folds 
or ridges. The dryness and folding somehow stimulate the nerve- 
endings in the mucous membrane of the stomach. There then 
arises the organic sensation of hunger. (2) Thirst is localised in 
the mouth and pharnyx. A dryness of the mucous membrane in 
this region somehow stimulates the nerve-endings. We do not know 
precisely in what way the thirst sensation is set up. It can be re- 
moved by painting the back of the mouth with a weak solution of 
citric acid. (3) The specific quality of nausea seems to be due to 
the pressure upon the nerve-endings in the oesophagus which occurs 
during the first stages of the vomiting reflex. It may be that this 
quality is that of pressure {cf. joint and muscle). Nausea usually 
contains sensations of taste, smell and giddiness ; and its compo- 
nents are so intimately blended that analysis is exceedingly difficult. 



§ 20. The Quality of the Static Sense 



63 



§ 19. The Quality of the Circulatory, Respiratory and Sex- 
ual Sensations. — ( i ) Tickling, itching, tingling, pins and 
needles, feverishness, etc., are not simple sensation quali- 
ties, but complexes, made up of sensations of cutaneous 
pressure, sensations of temperature, and organic sensations 
called forth by alteration in the circulation of the blood. It 
is doubtful whether these organic sensations are novel qual- 
ities. (2) The action of the lungs, like that of the heart, 
does not normally excite sensation. But in the complex per- 
ceptions of freshness and closeness of the atmosphere, of 
breathlessness, of a 'bracing' air, in the 'feelmg' of suffo- 
cation, etc., the stimulation of nerve-endings within the lungs 
themselves apparently arouses a true respiratory sensation. 
(3) The sex organs furnish a specific sensation quality. 
They are also sensitive to pressure and temperature. 

Tickling can be produced by moving a pencil, lightly or inter- 
mittently, over the palm of the hand ; tingling by keeping the 
legs crossed at the knee until the upper one ' goes to sleep,' and 
then uncrossing. It is noteworthy that tingling can also be occa- 
sioned by a jar upon a nerve trunk, as is shown by the effect of a 
blow upon the elbow (' funny bone '). 

§ 20. The duality of the Static Sense. — The internal ear 
consists of the cochlea (§ 13), the vestibule and the semi- 
circular canals. The 
vestibule is a membra- 
nous bag filled with 
endolymph. The ca- 
nals — also composed 
of membrane, and 

filled with endolymph ^ig. 4. - Diagram (schematic) of the internal 

ear, in longitudinal section, a, semicircu- 
are three semicn- lar canals; (^, cochlea; <r, basilar membrane; 

cular tubes, arranged d, vestibule. 




64 The Quality of Sensation 

in the three planes of space. All three structures are con- 
tinuous ; but the two last constitute a special organ, dis- 
tinct in function from the cochlea. They possess a special 
nerve, whose fibrils terminate in hair-cells, planted in the 
walls of the vestibule and at the bases of the canals. 

There is good evidence for the hypothesis that the 
canals and vestibule constitute an apparatus which assists 
us to maintain our equilibrium and to estimate correctly 
our position in space. As we move our head or body in 
different directions, the endolymph washes against differ- 
ent groups of hair-cells, and the nerve-fibrils are thus stim- 
ulated. Ordinarily, the action of the apparatus is not 
attended by sensation {cf. heart and lungs) ; but if equi- 
librium is seriously disturbed, or our position in space 
abnormal, we receive from the vestibular nerve-endings 
the organic sensation of giddiness.^ 

Method. — Twirl round quickly upon your heels for a few seconds. 
When you stop, your equilibrium is uncertain, you stagger ; and at 
the same time you ' feel dizzy.' Or place yourself in an abnormal 
position, upon your head, upon a narrow plank over a deep ravine, 
etc. Again you have the organic sensation of giddiness. 

The evidence for the view that giddiness proceeds from the in- 
ternal ear is derived from three sources, (i) Psychological experi- 
ments have been made by the aid of the ' tilt-board ' and 'rotation 
table.' These are beds or tables, upon which the subject is laid 
at full length. The tilt-board can be slanted, see-saw fashion, in 
either direction, so that the subject's head or feet may be raised or 
lowered through any angle. The rotation table can be revolved, 
at any angle of inclination. The subject is tilted, or rotated, with 
eyes shut ; and, this done, is required to open his eyes and judge 
of the position of certain objects shown in the field of vision. The 
results of such experiments point to the existence of a special 

1 For another possible quality of the static sense cf. § 48. 



§ 21. Pain 65 

mechanism, situated in the head, which subserves equihbration, 
etc. (2) Pathological observation helps us to determine what 
this organ is, and to bring it into connection with the sensation 
of giddiness. If patients with damaged vestibule and canals are 
twirled upon the rotation table or in a rotating chair, they neither 
become giddy, nor make any allowance for centrifugal force, as 
the normal subject does. (3) Vivisection confirms pathology. 
An animal whose canals have been cut cannot maintain its equi- 
librium. 

It might be thought that as all three parts of the internal ear are 
continuous in structure, and as the mode of excitation of nerve-end- 
ings in vestibule and canals is the same as that in the cochlea, — 
in all cases it is the impact of water upon the hairs of sensitive 
cells, — the static sense should be numbered, with audition, among 
the special senses. But although the mode of excitation is the 
same, the cochlear stimulus — an air-wave — is externally origi- 
nated, while the stimulus to giddiness is internal, a change in 
the organ itself. 

III. Common Sensation 

§ 21. Pain. — Excessive stimulation of any sense-organ, 
or direct injury to any sensory nerve, occasions the common 
sensation of pain. A concrete pain, such as is excited by a 
dazzling light or a cut of the finger, contains three distinct 
factors : a sensation of special sense or organic sensation, 
the common sensation of pain, and a severe unpleasantness 
(§31). In extreme pain, the first of these factors is far out- 
weighed by the other two. But we always know that it is 
the finger which is cut, a tooth that is aching, the alimentary 
canal which is giving us colic pains, etc. ; and this know- 
ledge of locality comes from a sensation of special sense or 
specific organic quality. 

All the sensations and sensation complexes described above 
under the headings of organic and common sensations, together 

F 



66 The Quality of Sensation 

with certain of the sensations of special sense (temperature, e.g.), 
were formerly called common sensations. It was beheved that 
they could be occasioned by the stimulation of any, or at least of 
more than one, group of sensory nerves. They were looked upon, 
that is, as ' common ' to several different sense departments. Our 
discussion shows that there is only one common sensation, in the 
strict meaning of the word, — pain. Hence it is best to speak of 
giddiness, strain, etc., as organic sensations. 

Pressure comes very near being a common sensation, since it is 
producible by stimulation of nerve-endings in skin and mucous 
membrane, in striped muscle and in joint. We may regard press- 
ure and pain as the most primitive sensations of the organism, the 
first to appear in the course of mental evolution. 

It must be noted that the existence of a common sensation does 
not invalidate our general definition of sensation. Pain is con- 
nected with excessive stimulation of any bodily sense-organ ; but 
a particular pain is always seated in some definite organ. 

There are many other names for complexes of organic and com- 
mon sensations, besides those noticed in the text. But there are 
no other specific sensation qualities. Fatigue, drowsiness, health, 
discomfort, etc., can easily be resolved (so far as they consist of 
sensations, § 32) into factors already mentioned. 

Method. — It is difficult to assure oneself of the qualitative simi- 
larity of pains set up in different sense departments, because the 
presence of pain is extremely unfavourable to introspection. But 
the following method may be successfully employed. Press a 
blunt rod down upon your chest, until the pressure becomes pain- 
ful, and let an assistant, when you give the word, sound a painfully 
shrill tone upon a piston whistle. After a few trials you will be 
able to introspect well enough to convince yourself that the two 
pains have the same quality. 

§ 22. The Total Number of Elementary Sensations. — 

Putting together the results of the foregoing Sections, wq 
obtain the following list of sensation qualities : 



§ 22. Total NiLJuber of Elementary Sensations 6y 



Eye ... 

Ear (audition) 
Nose . . 
Tongue 
Skin . . 
(Muscle . 
Tendon . 
(Joint . . 



30,850 

11,550 

? 

4 

3 

I) 
I 

I) 



Alimentary canal 
Blood-vessels 
Lungs .... 
Sex organs 
Ear (static sense) 
All organs (pain) 



I? 
I 

I 
I 



More than 42,415 



Each one of these forty thousand qualities is a conscious 
element, distinct from all the rest, and altogether simple 
and unanalysable. Each one may be blended or con- 
nected with others in various ways, to form perceptions 
and ideas. A large part of psychology is taken up with 
the determination of the laws and conditions which govern 
the formation of these sensation complexes. 

The above list represents the full resources of the normal mind. 
It must not be supposed, however, that every normal individual 
has had experience of all the qualities enumerated. It is safe to 
say that no one, not even the most experienced psychologist, has 
seen all the possible visual qualities, heard all the possible tones, 
smelled all the possible scents, etc. The list is a summary of the 
results obtained by many observers in the course of minute inves- 
tigations of our capacity of discrimination in the various fields of 
sense. 

Apart from this, a slight abnormality is much more common 
than is ordinarily supposed. Very many people are more or less 
colour-blind ; they confuse red with green, or blue with yellow, or 
have a shortened spectrum, i.e., do not see the full number of red 
and violet qualities. Very many are partially tone-deaf, deaf to 
very deep or very high tones. Very many have a defective sense 
of smell, etc. 

But when all allowances are made, the average number of con- 
scious elements must run into the tens of thousands. And the 
permutations and combinations even of 10,000 elements would 
give a very large stock of ideas. 



CHAPTER IV 
The Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sensation 

§ 23. Intensity, Extent and Duration as Attributes of Sen- 
sation. — Every sensation quality possesses a certain 
strength or intensity, and lasts for a certain lejtgth of time. 
The qualities of colour, brightness, pressure and tempera- 
ture have always, in addition to duration and intensity, 
a certain extent, i.e., are spread over a certain amount of 
space within the field of vision or of touch. 

It is evident that sensations may differ very widely in 
ail three respects. We can hear the faint sound made by 
the fall of a pin upon the floor, and we can hear the roar 
of thunder (intensity) ; we can see as long as daylight 
lasts, and we can see a momentary flash in the dark 
(duration); we can appreciate the heat of a hot needle- 
point, or the cold of water in which the whole body is 
immersed (extent). Not only, then, can each of the forty 
thousand sensation qualities combine with other qualities, 
to form a perception or an idea, but each quality can 
combine at various intensities, for different lengths of 
time, and, in the four cases mentioned, in varying extent. 

In § 7 we analysed the idea of a book into sensations of sight, 
sound, smell, pressure and strain. These qualities are present in 
the idea of every book. But the smell of the leather binding may 
be faint or strong ; the pressure of the volume on the hand may 

68 



§ 23. Intensity, Extent and Duratio7i as Attributes 69 

be light or heavy ; the strain of holding it great or small. The 
component sensations, i.e., may differ widely in intensity. Again : 
the scent, pressure and strain are less important elements of the 
total idea than are the qualities of sight. When we ' think of ' 
the book, we shall probably recall both smell and weight ; but 
they will not long remain as constituents of our idea. After a few 
seconds, perhaps, they will have entirely disappeared, and the 
idea of the book will be an exclusively visual idea. The visual 
elements persist as long as we continue to think of the book. 
The component sensations, then, differ widely in duration. Lastly : 
the yellow of the gold lettering and the red of the leather cover 
are both sensation qualities contained in the idea ; but there is 
a greater extent of red than of yellow. 

It is clear, then, that a few qualities may give rise to a large 
number of different ideas, in consequence of differences in inten- 
sity, duration and extent. My ideas of two books may be very 
different, although the qualities of sensation which they contain 
are the same. 

Three questions might be asked in connection with 
these three attributes of sensation. We might enquire : 
(i) What are the least intensity, extent and duration 
which a sensation may possess and still be a sensation? 
(2) What are the greatest intensity, extent and duration 
which a sensation quality can reach } And (3), just as we 
asked how many qualities of sensation could be ascribed 
to the eye, the ear, the skin, etc., so we might now ask : 
How many different intensities of sensation lie between 
the faint sound that we can barely hear and the loud 
sound that is almost loud enough to stun us 1 How many 
different sizes of black or red can we distinguish, from the 
tiny dot which is just visible, up to the expanse which fills 
the whole field of vision .'' How many durations of tem- 
perature sensation can we obtain, from the heat which 
flashes in consciousness for an instant, and then dis- 



/o Intensity, Extent, Duration of Sensation 

appears, to that which persists so long that it ceases to 
be itself and becomes pain ? 

The first of these questions we can answer, at least in 
a large number of cases. The second we cannot answer 
with the same degree of certainty. Our answer to the 
last plainly depends upon our answer to the other two. 
We cannot say, e.g., how many different intensities 
lie between the two extremes of sensation — the weakest 
and the strongest — unless we know what these two ex- 
tremes are. As we cannot determine the upper extreme 
very certainly and our knowledge of it cannot therefore 
be very accurate, we cannot calculate the whole number 
of sensation intensities, and compare it with our list of 
sensation qualities. Fortunately, the third question may 
be left unanswered, as regards all the three attributes under 
discussion, without any loss to psychology. We shall see 
later (§ 26) that the attempt to answer the first two suggests 
another, which takes the place of our present third question, 
and which can be satisfactorily and profitably answered. 

§ 24. The Minimal Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sen- 
sation. — (i) It is a familiar fact that in every department 
of sensation there are stimuli which are too weak to be 
sensed. We know that the clock of the church tower is 
ticking, because we see that its hands move : but the noise 
of the ticking is too faint to be heard from the ground. 
As we climb the stairs, it becomes audible. 

What we have to do, in order to discover the point at 
which sensation begins, is to take a stimulus which is too 
weak to be sensed, and gradually increase it until it calls 
forth a sensation. 

Method. — Methods of determining the least noticeable inten- 
sity of stimulus follow the same general principle in all sense 



§ 24- Minimal Intensity, Extent, Duration J\ 

departments. It will only be necessary, therefore, to give two 
or three concrete illustrations. 

To find the least noticeable intensity of noise, — Let the subject 
be seated, with closed eyes, in a large room which has no echo. 
Hold a watch before his face, and gradually remove it from him — 
taking care to hold it always directly fronting him, and to keep 
it at the right height above the floor {i.e., on a level with the ear) 
— until he ceases to hear its ticking. Measure the distance from 
this spot to the centre of an imaginary Hne joining his two ears. 
The distance will be somewhat too short : the sound has been 
growing fainter throughout the experiment, and he has therefore 
been expecting it to disappear. He has not been altogether 
impartial (§ lo). Now start again from a point some few feet 
beyond the spot at which sensation ceased, and move the watch 
slowly towards the subject, till he can hear the ticking. This 
point will probably lie on the far side of the other, as he knows 
that the ticking will soon be heard, and is therefore expecting it. 
Measure as before. Take the average of the first (too short) and 
second (too long) distances. The least noticeable intensity of 
noise is the intensity of the tick of the watch at this average 
distance. 

The investigation of the intensity of visual sensations is pecul- 
iarly difficult. For {a) the eye is never wholly at rest, as the ear 
or the skin may be. When we close our eyes, or enter a room 
from which light is shut out, we still see ; we see black, and black 
is one of the brightness qualities. This ' intrinsic ' brightness 
sensation, therefore, is always mixed with the brightness of the 
stimulus which we employ to test the eye. {li) We cannot change 
the intensity of a visual sensation without at the same time chang- 
ing its quality. If we make a grey lighter, it becomes a different 
grey, i.e., another sensation. In all the other sense departments 
it is possible to vary intensity independently of quality. 

All that we can do, then, is to enquire what amount of light is 
necessary to give a sensation of brightness just different from 
(brighter or stronger than) the ' intrinsic ' black of which we have 
spoken. For the purpose of this enquiry, the subject is placed 
in a dark chamber ; and, when his eyes have grown thoroughly 



72 Intensity, Extent, Duration of Sensation 

accustomed to the dark, a metal wire is heated until it just * shim- 
mers.' The intensity of the just noticeable shimmer must be 
measured by the aid of a * photometer,' such as is employed in 
physical laboratories. 

It is also by no means easy to ascertain the least noticeable 
intensity of temperature sensations. The skin has a natural 
warmth, as the eye has an intrinsic black ; and this warmth — 
which differs considerably from time to time — is added to or 
subtracted from the temperature of the stimulus, according as it 
is hot or cold. The part of the skin under investigation — say, 
the hand — must be kept in water of a neutral temperature, until 
the cutaneous organs have become adapted to it. The hand is 
then plunged into water which is slightly warmer or colder than 
this, and the point noted at which an increase or decrease of 
temperature is sensed. 

(2) A stimulus may be too small to be sensed. We 
know that there is a skylark somewhere above us, because 
we saw it rise from the grass, and can still hear it sing : 
but it is too small to be seen. There is, then, a certain 
minimal extent of visual stimuli, by which no sensation is 
aroused. And what holds of sight, holds also of pressure 
and temperature. 

Method. — To find the least noticeable extent of brightness. — 
Two white threads are stretched vertically over a grey background, 
at a convenient distance from the eye. They are very slowly and 
gradually brought together, until they seem just to touch. This 
will happen when they are actually separated by some little dis- 
tance. The procedure is now reversed : the threads are gradu- 
ally separated, until they seem to the eye to be just apart. The 
average of the two distances between them (the first too large, 
because their junction was expected ; the second too small, be- 
cause their disjunction was expected) is the least noticeable 
extent of grey, in the horizontal direction, at the given distance 
from the eye. It corresponds to a distance of about .005 mm. 
between the images of the two threads upon each retina. 



§ 24- Minimal hitensity, Extent, Duration y^ 

(3) A particular sensation — a sensation of bitter, e.g. — 
may last for a few moments or for a considerable length 
of time, its quality remaining unchanged. How much 
time must a sensation quality be allowed, if it is to be a 
full and adequate sensation ? 

Method. — One instance of the way in which this question is 
answered may again suffice. 

To find the least noticeable duration of pressure. — For this 
purpose we require a small toothed wheel of hard wood. The 
arm is placed comfortably upon a sloping arm-rest, in such a way 
that the tip of the first finger can be laid lightly upon the teeth of 
the wheel. When the wheel turns slowly, we have a series of dis- 
tinct pressure sensations, one from each tooth. But at a certain 
rate of rotation, we lose the distinct pressures, and have a percep- 
tion of roughness, like that obtained by passing the finger over 
velvet ; while if the teeth strike at a still higher velocity, the per- 
ception becomes indistinguishable from that of a perfectly smooth 
surface, such as marble. We must ascertain the highest speed at 
which the wheel can be revolved, and still give a series of distinct 
pressures. Dividing the time of revolution by the number of 
teeth, we get the minimal duration of pressure sensation required. 

We must note here that a sensation does not come to an end at 
the moment when its stimulus ceases to act. If we look at a 
bright light, and then close our eyes, we see on the black back- 
ground a coloured patch, of the same form as the light. It may 
persist for several minutes. If we blow out a lighted match, and 
wave it round while the burned end is still glowing, we see a red 
circle in the air ; the red sensation at any point upon the circle 
persists until the match has returned again to that same point. 
This is why a disc composed of black and white sectors looks 
grey when it is rotated (§ 12) ; the sensation of black remains 
while the white stimulus is given, and the sensation of white per- 
sists while the black sector is stimulating the eye. 

The after-sensations, or after-images, as they are called, are of 
very different duration in the different sense departments. Thus, 



74 Inte7tsityy Extent^ Duration of Sensation 

the total duration of a loud sound or heavy pressure is consider- 
ably less than that of even a moderately strong visual or temper- 
ature sensation. 

We cannot say in definite terms what is the minimal in- 
tensity, duration or extent of a particular sensation quality. 
The chief reasons for this are the following, (i) Al- 
though one man may be able to distinguish as many qual- 
ities of noise as another, it does not follow that he can 
hear equally faint sounds. That is to say, the stimulus 
which arouses sensation in one case may prove to be too 
weak in another, even if the two sense-organs are per- 
fectly normal. (2) A stimulus which is effective at one 
part of the sense-organ may be inefficient to call forth 
sensation at another. A weight which excites the sen- 
sation of pressure upon the finger-tips is not noticed 
when laid on the back of the hand (intensity); and 
threads which seem just separate when directly looked 
at appear to be a single thread if observed indirectly, 
from the side of the retina (extent). (3) The just notice- 
able intensity of stimulus depends upon its own extent 
and duration. A light which is too faint to be seen at 
once may produce a sensation if it continue for some time 
together; and a faint speck of light may be invisible, 
though an extended light of the same intensity would be 
easily seen. 

No general table of minimal values can be made out, 
therefore. They must be determined afresh in every 
series of experiments for which a knowledge of them is 
required. 

§ 25. The Maximal Intensity, Extent and Duration of Sen- 
sation. — (i) The maximal intensity of sensation is that 
intensity which cannot be increased by any further in- 



§ 2 5- Maxhnal Intensity, Extent, Duration 75 

crease of stimulus. It seems- probable that the greatest 
intensity which a sensation quality can attain is its inten- 
sity at the moment before it passes over into pain. For 
though the quality of pain does not wholly destroy the 
original qualities of pressure, strain, etc., it so obscures 
them that we do not know whether they undergo change 
with further increase of stimulus or not. For all practi- 
cal purposes, then, sensation intensity does not increase 
beyond the point at which a stimulus becomes painful. 

Method. — To determine the maximal intensity of sweet, e.g., we 
must increase the intensity of a sweet stimulus by slow degrees 
until we reach the point at which the sweetness is ' sickly ' and 
* nauseating.' The amount of sweet stimulus which is just not 
sickly is the equivalent of the maximal sweet sensation. 

There are two reasons why we cannot ascertain the maximum 
of sensation intensity with any great accuracy, (i) The sense- 
organ may be so much fatigued by a succession of very strong 
stimuU that it refuses to act at all. The ear may be ' deadened,' 
smell may be ' blunted,' before the really maximal intensity of 
stimulation has been reached. (2) We can work only in one 
direction, up towards the stimulus which produces a maximal 
sensation. If we began to experiment with a stronger stimulus, 
we might injure the organ. Now we have seen that when experi- 
ments are all made in one definite direction, the subject is not 
impartial ; he expects or anticipates the result of the experi- 
mental series. Pain will occur, therefore, earlier than it should ; 
and the maximal intensity obtained will, in every case, be too 
small. Could we reverse our procedure, and come down to the 
maximal stimulus, we should be able to correct the error of 
expectation by averaging. 

(2) The maximal extent of a visual quality is produced 
by a stimulus which completely fills the field of vision. 
The maximal extent of pressure or temperature sensa- 
tion is produced by a stimulus which affects the entire 



'j^ Intensity, Extent, Duration of Sensation 

surface of the skin, or the whole extent of the internal 
organ from which the sensation proceeds (muscle, joint, 
etc.). 

Method. — If we immerse the body in cold water, we obtain a 
cold sensation of maximal extent ; if we plunge into water of 
a neutral temperature, a maximally extended pressure sensation. 
A maximally extended black is obtained when we look straight 
before us in a dark chamber ; a maximally extended blue, when 
we look directly at the sky under such conditions that there is 
nothing to 'break the view,' — e.g., as we he on our back on a 
hill-top. 

(3) The maximal duration of the various sensations 
has not been investigated. Many qualities, if long con- 
tinued, pass over into pain ; e.g., shrill tones. Others, it 
would seem, might be prolonged indefinitely ; e.g., black, 
a moderate warmth. 

§ 26. The Relation of Intensity, Extent and Duration 
to ftuality of Sensation. — The foregoing Sections have 
brought out several differences between quality and the 
other attributes of sensation. One difference, a differ- 
ence in the importance of the attributes to sensation as 
an elementary conscious process, we have emphasised 
previously by saying that intensity, duration and extent 
are always the intensity, duration and extent of some 
quality (§ 8). Quality is the most important attribute. 
The further distinctions which we are now able to draw 
are four in number, (i) Knowledge of the number of 
qualities helps us in our analysis of consciousness ; know- 
ledge of the number of intensities, etc., does not. (2) 
Knowledge of the number of qualities helps us to ascer- 
tain the bodily conditions of sensation ; knowledge of the 
number of intensities, etc., does not. (3) Quality is ab- 



§ 26. Their Relation to Quality of Sensation jy 

solute ; the other sensation attributes are only relative or 
comparative. (4) Quality is individual ; the other three 
attributes are common or general. 

(i) Two sensations which differ in quaHty are two different sen- 
sations. But a sensation may differ widely in intensity/ extent or 
duration, and yet remain the same sensation. Since the first task 
of the psychologist is to analyse consciousness into its elements, 
he is obhged to count up the total number of sensation qualities. 
Ignorance of any one of them would mean that his analysis was 
incomplete, and his final account of mind so far wrong. But he 
is in no way assisted by a list of the possible intensities, etc. 
These are not new conscious elements, but only degrees or 
amounts of elements already known. (2) We laid it down in 
our definition of sensation that the mental process is always con- 
nected with a bodily process in a definite bodily organ. It fol- 
lows that every sensation quality is connected with a different 
kind of bodily process. Hence it is necessary for us to know the 
number of sensation quahties, if we are to give a complete descrip- 
tion of the bodily processes connected with sensations. Our view 
of the way in which the ear works, e.g., depends upon the number 
of sensations obtainable from it. There is no similar reason for 
knowing the number of sensation intensities, etc. ; for it is clear 
that one and the same kind of bodily process may last for a longer 
or shorter time (duration of sensation), be more or less widely 
diffused within the bodily organ(extentof sensation), and be more 
or less well-marked (intensity of sensation) in different instances. 
(3) There is nothing absolute about an intensity, etc., as there is 
about a quality ; we estimate intensity always by comparison with 
other intensities. Our use of terms indicates this. ' Blue ' means 
something fixed and absolute ; but * large ' is altogether relative 
or comparative : a ' large ' beetle, a '■ large ' table, and a '■ large ' 
village refer to objects of very different absolute sizes. If we had 
our full Hst, therefore, we could do nothing with it ; its terms 
would lose all definite meaning as soon as they were taken out 

1 With the single exception of visual sensations: cf. §§ 12, 24. 



'/S Intensity^ Extent^ Duration of Sensation 

of the list, i.e., as soon as it became impossible to compare them 
with the other terms. (4) No two elementary processes have 
the same quality. They may have the same intensity, extent 
and duration ; for intensity and duration are universal attributes, 
common to all sensation processes alike, while extent is common 
to all sensations from eye and skin. Not only, then, is quality 
absolute, and intensity, etc., relative ; quality is an individual at- 
tribute, while intensity, etc., are common characteristics of differ- 
ent elements. 

Now an individual fact requires individual explanation : we 
found it necessary to give one account of the action of light on 
the eye, another of the action of sound on the ear, etc. But 
a common or universal aspect of all sensations should receive 
a general explanation. May we not be able, then, instead of 
dealing with each organ separately, to give a single account of 
what goes on in all the bodily organs when a sensation changes 
in intensity, etc. ? 

This is the question which was referred to in § 23 as growing 
out of the discussion of the first two questions propounded in 
the present chapter. The third question there raised, and judged 
unanswerable, we have found to be not worth answering. The 
new question, on the other hand, is one of the most important in 
the whole sphere of sensation psychology. Very many experi- 
ments have been made upon our estimation of intensities (Weber's 
law), extents (eye measurement) and durations (time sense) : we 
must briefly review these before we can answer it. 

§ 27. Weber's Law. — We have seen that some stimuli 
are too weak to produce a sensation. Every one must 
have noticed the further fact that a stimulus may be of 
considerable intensity, and yet not strong enough to add 
to the intensity of a sensation already existing. If a 
candle is lighted in the room in which we are sitting on a 
dull winter's afternoon, the room becomes quite noticeably 
brighter ; but if the same candle is lighted in the same 
room on a sunny morning, it makes no appreciable dif- 



§ 2/. Weber's Law 79 

ference in the general illumination. If we dissolve an 
extra spoonful of sugar in a cup of coffee, we make it very 
perceptibly sweeter ; but if we stir the same amount of 
sugar into a cup of honey, we do not find that there is any 
difference in the taste. Let us see what follows from this 
fact in a particular series of experiments. 

Suppose that we are investigating the intensity of noise. 
We shall begin with a stimulus of moderate intensity : 
say, the noise made by the fall of an ivory ball upon a 
wood plate from a height of 90 cm. We will call the 
intensity of this sensation i. If we gradually increase the 
height of fall, we shall reach a point at which the noise 
of the fall is just noticeably greater than the original 
noise. We may call the intensity of this second sensa- 
tion 2. If we further increase the height of fall, we shall 
presently get a noise, 3, which is just noticeably louder 
than 2 ; and so on. Now what are the different heights 
of fall — i.e.y intensities of stimulus — necessary to arouse 
sensations of the intensities 2, 3, 4, etc. } The stimulus 
required for a sensation of the intensity i was a fall of 
90 cm. That required for intensity 2 was a fall, let us say, 
of 120 cm. ; we were obliged to add 30 cm. to the original 
90 cm. Will the stimulus required for the sensation in- 
tensity 3 be a fall of 150 (120 -f 30) cm. ; that for intensity 
4, a fall of 180 (150 + 30) cm., and so on } 

However natural it may seem to reply to this question 
in the affirmative, the facts stated just now show that the 
answer would be incorrect. Dull daylight + candle-light 
gives a stronger sensation than dull daylight ; but bright 
sunlight + candle-light is not stronger than bright sunlight. 
On the same principle, a fall of 90 + 30 cm. gives a louder 
sound than a fall of 90 cm. ; but a fall of 120 -|- 30 need 



8o Intensity, Extent, Duration of Sensation 

not give a more intensive sensation than a fall of 120. 
The stronger the stimulus already is, the greater must be 
the addition made to it if the sensation which it arouses is 
to increase in intensity. An addition of 30 cm. suffices to 
raise the intensity of sensation from i to 2 ; but if we are 
affected by the stronger stimulus 120 cm,, we must add 
more than 30 to it to change intensity 2 to intensity 3. 
In other words : change in the intensity of sensations does 
not keep even pace with change in the intensity of the 
stimuli which occasion them. 

Experiment enables us to replace this general state- 
ment of the relation of sensation intensity to stimulus 
intensity by a definite scientific law. If sensations are to 
increase in intensity by equal amounts, their stimuli must 
increase by relatively equal amounts. If the increase of 
90 cm. to 120 {i.e., increase by \) raises the intensity 
of sound from i to 2, then 120 must be increased by \ of 
itself, i.e., by 40 cm., if the sensation intensity is to rise 
from 2 to 3 ; and 160 must again be increased by \ of 
itself, i.e., by 53 cm., if the intensity of noise is to rise from 
3 to 4. In the same way, a stimulus of 30 cm. must in- 
crease to 40, and a stimulus of 60 cm. to 80, if we are to 
obtain equal differences in the intensity of the sensations 
corresponding to them. This law — that equal differences 
in the intensity of sensation are produced by relatively 
equal differences in the intensity of stimulus — is known 
as Weber's law.^ It has been found to hold good for 

1 Ernst Heinrich Weber (b. 1795, d. 1878) held successively the chairs of 
comparative anatomy, human anatomy and physiology in the University of 
Leipsic (from 1818 until his death). The first statement of his law is to be 
found in a paper De tactu (" Upon Touch"), published in 1834. It runs as 
follows : In observando discrimine reriim inter se comparatartim non differ- 
entiani rerum, sed rationem differ entice ad magnitudinein rertcm inter se 



§ 2*j. Weber s Law 8i 

stimuli and sensations of widely different intensities in 
several sense departments, — indeed, in all those which 
have been thoroughly investigated. It is of especial im- 
portance as the first law, in the scientific meaning of the 
word, discovered by psychology. 

The numerical expression of the law (z>., the exact ratio in 
which stimuli must increase to produce equal differences of sensa- 
tion intensity) is different in the different sense departments, 
(i) Weights laid upon the finger-tips must increase by one- 
twentieth to produce a noticeable difference in the intensity of 
pressure-, (2) noise stimuli must increase, as in our illustration, by 
one-third ; (3) brightness stimuli by one-hundredth ; (4) strain 
stimuli — lifted weights — by one-fortieth. There are indications 
that (5) intensities of tone and (6) of taste (salt and bitter) obey 
Weber's law, but no exact statement can be made with regard 
to them. Whether the law holds for the temperature sense is an 
open question. No investigation has been made of smell, or of 
any organic sensation other than strain. 

The law may be phrased mathematically as follows : If sensation 
intensities are to increase in arithmetical progression, stimulus 
intensities must increase in geometrical ; or, more shortly : Sensa- 
tion increases as the logarithm of stimulus. 

Method. — To find the numerical expression of Weber's law 
for noise. — An ivory ball is let fall, from two different heights, 
upon a hard-wood plate. The difference of intensity between the 
two sounds {i.e., the difference between the two heights of fall) 
must be slight. The two sounds are given in irregular order in 
different experiments (to avoid the influence of expectation), and 
the subject is required to say, in each case, whether the second 
is louder or weaker than the first. In 100 experiments, he will 
give a certain number of right answers, and a certain number of 
wrong. 

comparataruvi percipimus. (" In observing the difference between com- 
pared objects, we perceive not the [absolute] difference between the objects, 
but the proportion which the difference bears to their magnitude.") 

G 



82 Intensity^ Extenty Duration of Sensation 

The method assumes that if the two sounds are just noticeably- 
different in intensity, the subject will give about 80% right and 
20% wrong answers. This proportion is calculated by what 
mathematicians call the ' law of probability.' Now suppose that 
a certain difference gave 70 right and 30 wrong answers in 100 
experiments. We could calculate, by aid of the integral calculus, 
how much larger the difference must have been to give 80 right 
and 20 wrong, — i.e., to be just noticeable. The calculated dif- 
ference (difference of height of fall) is the numerator, and the 
original intensity (original height of fall) of the weaker sound, the 
denominator, of the fraction which expresses Weber's law. 

§ 28. Eye Measurement. — We have found a general law 
governing the relation of sensation intensity to stimulus. 
Is there any similar lav^ governing the relations of stimu- 
lus and sensation extent ? Nothing can be said by way of 
answer to this question in the spheres of pressure (whether 
from skin or joint) and temperature. Many experiments 
have been made, however, upon what is termed * eye 
measurement ' ; that is, upon the accuracy of our estima- 
tion of visual extents (lines). 

If a horizontal line, of moderate length, is bisected, and 
one of the halves gradually lengthened, the eye will find a 
difference between the two parts when the larger becomes 
one-fiftieth longer than the smaller. This rule holds good 
for stimuli of widely different absolute extent (lines of 
widely different length). 

Extent is one of the necessary attributes of visual sensations ; 
whenever we see, we see something extended. But it does not 
follow from this that extents are compared or estimated as ex- 
tents, i.e., that we can make a direct judgment of the relative 
lengths of two lines, without calling in the aid of other attributes 
of sensation. The rule given above — that equal additions to the 
extent of sensation mean relatively equal additions to the extent 



§ 28. Eye Measurement 83 

of stimulus — cannot but suggest Weber's law, the general formu- 
lation of which is precisely the same. The rule suggests, that is, 
that we compare 

or estimate ex- ri Jl O 

tent of sensation — — ™— «>-n__»«,a,H»„ 

by the help of Yig. 5. — Illustration of Weber's Law in the sphere of 

the intensity of eye-measurement. The length of b stands midway, 

some attendant fof sensation, between the lengths of a and c. If the 

sensation lines are measured it will be found that a:b — b\c. 

There is good 
reason for thinking that our estimation of visual extent is originally 
made by the help of the intensity of strain sensations. Each eye 
is slung in its socket upon six separate muscles. When we com- 
pare two lines, the natural thing to do is to * run the eyes along ' 
them ; and this movement of the eyes calls forth sensations of 
muscular contraction and of tendinous strain. A longer line occa- 
sions a more severe (stronger) strain, and a shorter hne a less 
severe strain. We estimate extent in terms of intensity. 

The numerical expression of Weber's law for strain intensities 
in experiments with hfted weights is one-fortieth. It is only to 
be expected that the fraction should be somewhat less in the 
case of the eye. The eye is constantly engaged with extents 
and their estimation, whereas the hand and arm are not so 
highly practised in the comparison of lifted weights. And the 
eyeball, with its six muscles and the tendons attaching to them, 
is set by itself in a bony socket, out of the reach of disturbance 
from the rest of the body ; whereas the muscles and tendons of 
hand and arm interact in a much more complex way, and are 
liable to disturbance from shoulder, back, etc., — indeed, from all 
the muscles and tendons employed to maintain a particular bodily 
attitude. 

It must not be supposed, however, that our judgment of the ex- 
tents of two lines in a particular experiment is necessarily based 
upon the intensities of strain sensations coming from the tendons 
of the eye muscles. The fiirther we advance into psychology, the 
more clearly shall we see that the mind can travel by many roads 
to the same result. We may ' remember ' an event in half-a- 



84 Intensity, Extent, Duratioji of Sensation 

dozen different ways; we may 'compare' visual extents by 
half-a-dozen different methods. The natural and original way to 
compare them is, in all probabiUty, by aid of the intensity of attend- 
ant strain sensations ; if we take this way, Weber's law will, of 
course, be found to govern our judgment. 

Method. — Three white threads are stretched vertically over a 
grey background. The distance 1-2 is objectively equal to the 
distance 2-3. The former distance remains constant throughout 
the experiment. Thread 3 is now gradually moved outwards, till 
2-3 seems just longer than 1-2. Owing to the error of expecta- 
tion (§ 24), the judgment 'longer' will come too soon, i.e., the 
estimation will be more accurate than the observer's average esti- 
mation. Thread 3 is then set further outwards, and from that 
point moved slowly inwards, until the tv\*o distances are apparently 
equal again. The judgment of equality comes too soon, i.e., is 
less accurate than the observer's average judgment. The exper- 
iment is now repeated in the reverse direction. We start out 
from objective equality of 1-2 and 2-3, and move 3 inwards, until 
2-3 is just perceptibly shorter than 1-2. The judgment is too 
accurate. Then, beginning from a point further inwards, we move 
3 out, until 2-3 is apparently equal to 1-2. The judgment is too 
inaccurate. — The whole procedure is now repeated, except that 
the distance 2-3 is kept constant throughout the experiments, 
while the distance 1-2 is varied. 

The eight judgments thus obtained are averaged : and the dif- 
ference between the constant distance and this average gives us a 
measure of the subject's accuracy in the discrimination of hori- 
zontal extents. 

§ 29. The Time Sense. — The question of this Section is 
similiar to those of the tv^o preceding : Is there any gen- 
eral law governing the relation of stimulus to sensation 
duration .? or, as it has more often been phrased : Is there 
any general law governing our estimation of time intervals .? 
A time interval is never an * empty ' time ; if it is conscious, 
it is always the duration of something, some conscious 



§ 29- The Time Sense 85 

process or processes. Psychologically regarded, * inter- 
val ' and ' duration ' are convertible terms. 

Experiments upon the estimation of intervals (durations) 
are grouped together under the heading of the ' time 
sense.' It must be borne in mind that this expression is 
merely figurative. We have no special sense of time, any 
more than we have an intensity sense or an extent sense. 
All sensations have duration, but we have no sensation of 
duration. 

It has been found by experiment that judgments of the 
relative length of intervals (durations) are of three distinct 
kinds, according as the intervals themselves are shorter 
than half-a-second, longer than three seconds, or lie be- 
tween these time limits. 

(i) Our estimation of time intervals of less than half-a- 
second's duration is very accurate. We cannot as yet say 
with any degree of certainty upon what psychological 
grounds the judgment that one such interval is longer or 
shorter than another is based. But it is never a direct 
judgment of duration, i.e., a judgment based upon the 
estimation of two conscious durations. Hence we need 
not consider it here. 

All that we know at present of these judgments (beyond the 
fact that they are not judgments of duration) is that they vary 
with the sense department from which the stimuli which limit the 
intervals are taken, with the rhythm and accent of these stimuli, 
and with the direction of the attention to one stimulus or another. 

(i) If two equal intervals — say, of a quarter of a second's 
duration — are given, the one bounded by visual and the other by 
cutaneous (pressure) stimuli, the latter appears to be considerably 
the shorter of the two. This is because the visual after-sensation 
(§ 24) lasts longer than the cutaneous, and the ' visual ' interval is 
thus extended in a way in which the cutaneous interval is not. 



S6 Intensity, Extent, Duration of Sensation 

(2) When we listen to a rapid series of taps or clicks, we find 
ourselves ^ forced/ as it were, to accent some more strongly than 
others ; the sounds ' fall ' into a rhythm. Suppose that we have 
three taps, i.e., two intervals. If we accent the first, — i ' 2 3, — the 
first interval is judged to be the longer ; if we accent the second, 
— 12' 3, — the second; if the third, — i 2 3', — the first again. 
The effect of accent is to lengthen the following and shorten the pre- 
ceding interval. If the series really increases in loudness, the inter- 
vals seem to grow shorter ; if it decreases, they grow longer. (3) A 
chance direction of the attention has the same effect as accentuation 
or real change of intensity of the limiting stimuli. Thus it may 
reverse the judgment instanced under (i). There is here no 
direct comparison of durations ; our judgment of duration depends 
entirely upon the power of the limiting stimuli to hold the atten- 
tion. — The phenomena of accent can be observed in the ticking 
of a watch (four or five ticks to the one second) held to the ear. 

(2) Estimation of intervals longer than three seconds is 
an estimation of duration, but not a direct estimation. Our 
judgment that one interval is longer than another is based 
principally upon the difference in the number of mental 
processes which ran their course within the two total dura- 
tions. The more processes introspection shows to have 
occurred in an interval, the longer is that interval judged 
to be. These intervals, also, may be passed over here. 

(3) Durations which lie between the limits of half-a- 
second and three seconds are estimated as durations. For 
their estimation the law holds that equal differences of 
conscious duration are produced by relatively equal differ- 
ences of stimulus duration. That is, if time a is to seem 
as much longer than time b as time c seems longer than 
time d, the proportion must hold that a — b\b\\c — d'.d. 

We are again reminded of Weber's law. And indeed, just as 
estimation of visual extents is based upon* intensities of strain sen- 



§§ 29, 30. Time Sense and Meaning of Weber s Law diy 

sation (the sensations proceeding from the tendons of the eye 
muscles), and thus follows Weber's law, so apparently is the 
estimation of these time-intervals base^ upon intensities of strain 
sensation, — and the law formulated is not really a duration law, 
but Weber's law itself When we try to discover by introspection 
what means we have used for our comparison of two durations of 
this third kind, we find that strain intensities have played a great 
part in the formation of the judgment. The strain sensations 
come (i) from the expectant attitude of the whole body, and 
(2) from the adjustment of the sense-organ to the stimuli which 
limit the intervals to be compared. We estimate duration in 
terms of intensity : the more intensive the strain, the longer must 
the interval have been ; the less the strain, the shorter the time. 

Again, however, the natural and original way (§ 28) need not 
necessarily be followed ; and hence the results of experiments 
upon the estimation of these ' moderate ' intervals do not always 
agree. Much work remains to be done, before the psychological 
facts upon which the different time judgments are based can be 
completely described. 

Method. — An electric hammer is connected with an electric 
clock in such a way that it gives three sharp taps upon its base 
at the required intervals. The subject has to compare the lengths 
of the two intervals, just as he would compare two intensities or 
extents. We may employ the method of gradual change (§ 28), 
increasing and decreasing one interval until a difference between 
the two is remarked, or the method of right and wrong cases 
(§ 27), working with constant intervals which are very little dif- 
ferent. 

Or we may allow the hammer to give two strokes — one dura- 
tion — only, and require the subject to arrest the electric clock (by 
pressing a key) as soon as a time has elapsed which he judges to 
be equal to the given time. The errors w4iich he makes in a series 
of experiments furnish a measure of the accuracy of his estimation 
of duration. 

§ 30. The Meaning of Weber's Law. — We can now pro- 
ceed to answer the question of § 25 : What goes on in the 



S8 Intensity, Extent, Duration of Se7isation 

bodily organs when a sensation changes in intensity ? The 
psychological facts embraced under Weber's law must be 
brought into connection with what physiology tells us of 
the effect produced upon nervous substance by stimuli of 
different intensities. 

(i) We know that nervous substance resists the incom- 
ing of stimulation. The resistance which it offers can 
be overcome only by stimuli of a certain strength. This 
physiological knowledge enables us to understand why 
very weak stimuli are not sensed at all : they are too weak 
to overcome the resistance which they encounter in the 
nervous centres. 

(2) Weak stimulation makes the nervous substance 
more excitable ; strong stimulation leaves it less excitable. 
Hence Weber's law does not hold for stimuli which ap- 
proach to minimal or maximal values. As the law holds 
over a wide range of stimuli, i.e., for all those of * moder- 
ate ' strength, we must suppose that moderate stimulation 
does not change the excitability of nervous substance. 

(3) The fact that moderate stimulation does not alter 
nervous excitability, taken together with the fact that ner- 
vous substance resists the incoming of stimuli, accounts for 
the general rule that change in sensation intensity does 
not come with every change in the intensity of stimulus. 
It might be thought that, when once an excitation had 
been set up, the resistance of nervous substance had been 
once for all overcome, and that we ought, consequently, to 
sense any addition made to the strength of stimulus. But 
the moderately excited nervous substance offers as much 
resistance as the unexcited to the incoming stimulus ; and 
a small addition to the strength of the latter is, therefore, 
not sensed. 



§ 30. The Meaning of Weber's Lazv 89 

(4) Physiology asserts that a stimuhis which affects a 
particular sense-organ not only produces an excitation 
within that organ, but is more or less widely diffused over 
the whole body. Thus a light-stimulus not only sets up 
an excitation within the retina, but also has an effect upon 
circulation, respiration, etc. Some part of the energy of 
every stimulus, then, is lost for sensation. 

Weber's law shows that the part which is lost (and con- 
sequently the part which is used) always bears the same 
relation to the total stimulus. A light of 100 candle-power 
is just different from a light of lOi ; a light of 200 from a 
light of 202. Just the same proportion of light is lost 
(and just the same proportion used) in the one case as in 
the other. 

Since strong stimulation decreases the excitability of nervous 
substance, it is intelligible that the fraction which expresses the 
relative increase of stimulus necessary to produce a just notice- 
able increase of sensation should be larger in the case of strong 
stimuli than in that of moderate (Weber's law). And we find 
that while tlie just noticeable difference of noise is one-third for 
moderate sounds, it is much more than one-third for extremely 
loud sounds. 

Since weak stimulation increases the excitabihty of nervous 
substance, we might suppose that the corresponding fraction 
would be smaller than that which expresses Weber's law. The 
reverse is the case : the fraction is larger for less than moderate, 
as it was for more than moderate stimuli. The just noticeable 
difference of very faint noise, that is, is also more than one- 
third. 

The reasons for this, at first sight anomalous, fact are as follows, 
(i) It is difficult to hold the attention upon a very weak stimulus. 
Hence small differences between very faint sensations may pass un- 
noticed {cf. §§ T^^, 41). (2) The sense-organs are at all times 
subject to the action of weak internal stimulation. In some cases 



90 Intensity^ Extent, Duration of Sensation 

this stimulation is strong enough to maintain a permanent sensation 
{cf. the black of the retina, § 24), in other cases it only occasion- 
ally reaches the necessary strength (we are ordinarily insensible, 
e.g., to the internal ear-noises, corresponding to the pumping of 
blood through the arteries of the internal ear) : it is always present 
in some degree. When we state numerically the increase of stim- 
ulus required to produce an increase of sensation, we make this in- 
crease a fractional part of the external stimulus alone : it should 
properly be calculated as a fractional part of external plus internal 
stimulus. Thus if a very faint sound had to be increased by one- 
half, that the two might be sensed as different, we should say that 
Weber's law did not hold : Weber's law demands a difference of 
one-third only. Yet this addition, which is one-half of the ex- 
ternal sound, might be one-third of external sound plus artery- 
sounds, — if we could but measure the latter. In general terms, 
the deviation from Weber's law may oftentimes be apparent 
only, not real. (3) If the deviation be real, we may suppose 
that the increase of nervous excitability, within the time limits 
of a single experiment, is not sufficient to counterbalance the 
resistance offered by nervous substance to the incoming of stim- 
ulus. 

(5) The numerical expression of Weber's lav^ is differ- 
ent in the different sense departments. By the eye we 
can appreciate a difference of one-hundredth in the in- 
tensity of a stimulus ; by the ear, a difference of one-third 
only. This proves that the nervous substance of the eye 
is far more excitable by ether vibrations than is that of the 
ear by air-waves. 

It is plain from these considerations that the bodily con- 
ditions of sensation intensity are of a general nature, that 
they are alike in all the sense-organs. And wherever our 
estimation of durations and extents is based upon differ- 
ences in the intensity of strain .sensations, the bodily con- 
ditions of these aspects of sensation are the same as the 



§ 30. TJie Meaning of Weber s Lazv 91 

conditions of intensity. Weber's law ' explains ' the phe- 
nomena of intensity, extent and duration, over the whole 
domain of sensation, in the sense in which our account of 
the structure and function of eye or ear ' explains ' the 
qualities of vision or audition. 



CHAPTER V 

Affection as a Conscious Element. The Methods 
OF investigating Affection 

§ 31. The Definition of Affection. — We can quite well 
conceive of a mind which should be entirely made up of 
sensation processes and the processes arising from the 
interconnection and intermixture of sensations (perceptions 
and ideas). Certain mythologies represent the divine 
mind to be of this type : it is omniscient {i.e., the ideas 
of which it consists form the total sum of all possible 
ideas), but it is also indifferent (unfeeling) and contem- 
plative (inactive). Mind as we observe it, however, is of 
a very different nature. The living organism is exposed 
through its sense-organs to all manner of stimuli, and its 
mental processes are in large measure the sensation pro- 
cesses directly aroused by these stimuli. But the organism 
is not indifferent. It not only senses : it feels. It not 
only receives impressions and has sensations: it receives 
impressions in a certain way. 

When we have spoken in previous Sections of the effect 
of stimulation upon a bodily organ, we have thought of 
the body as entirely passive. We have pictured the 
stimulus as forcing its way through the organ, and setting 
up some change in it and in the brain, just as we might 
have pictured the photographer's acid eating away the 
surface of the sensitive plate. But the body is alive ; and 

92 



§31- The Defiiiition of Affection 93 

life means the balance of power (more or less perfect) in 
the perpetual conflict of two opposing forces, — growth 
and decay. No impression can be made upon the living 
body that does not tend in some way to change this 
balance, — that does not tip the scale on one side or the 
other, furthering growth or hastening decay. Hence 
every stimulus that produces a special effect, within a 
certain organ and the area of the brain cortex with which 
that organ is connected, must also produce a general effect 
upon the nervous system {cf. § 30). It must help either 
to build up nervous substance or to break it down. The 
organism is a whole : and what affects it in either of these 
ways at one part, must affect it as a whole, in all. The 
conscious processes corresponding to the general bodily 
processes thus set up by stimuli — processes not confined 
to definite bodily organs — are termed affections. 

It will be readily understood that we cannot classify 
affections as we classified sensations ; that there are no 
different orders or groups of affections as there are of 
sensations. There are many sense-organs, and each organ 
furnishes one or two groups or classes of sensations : but 
there is only one affective organ, — the whole body. It 
will be seen, further, that there cannot be so many quali- 
ties of affection as there are, e.g.y of sight or hearing. 
We have a large number of sensations of colour, because 
ether-waves of different lengths set up different chemical 
processes within the retina ; we have a large number of 
sensations of tone, because air-waves of different lengths 
throw different fibres of the basilar membrane into vi- 
bration. But there are only two bodily processes to give 
rise to affective processes : the building-up process (anab- 
olism) and the breaking-down process (catabolism). We 



94 Affection as a Conscious Element 

should expect, then, to find no more than two quaHties of 
affection. And introspection tells us that the expectation 
is correct. The anabolic bodily processes correspond to 
the conscious quality of pleasantness^ catabolic processes 
to that of unpleasantness. These are the only qualities of 
affection. 

In our definition of sensation, we took account of its 
simplicity as a conscious process, and of its bodily con- 
ditions. Of the simplicity of affection — pleasantness and 
unpleasantness — there can be no doubt : neither of its 
two qualities can be analysed into more simple and ele- 
mentary components. It is, as we have seen, unlike sen- 
sation in that it is not connected with a bodily process 
in a definite bodily organ. The organism, as a whole, 
receives the impressions made upon it in a certain way : 
an affection is the conscious process arising from its /way 
of receiving ' a particular impression. 

§ 32. Affection and Sensation. — The processes of pleas- 
antness and unpleasantness seem, at least in many cases, 
to bear a strong resemblance to certain concrete experi- 
ences which we have analysed, provisionally, as complexes 
of sensations (§ 21). Thus pleasantness may suggest 
health, drowsiness, bodily comfort; and unpleasantness 
pain, discomfort, overtiredness, etc. Hence it might be 
supposed — notwithstanding the statements of the preced- 
ing Section — that the two qualities which we have ascribed 
to affection are in reality two new qualities of common or 
organic sensation ; perhaps common, like pain, to all the 
sensory nerves of the body, perhaps restricted, like press- 
ure, to a few great groups of sensory nerves. 

Now there can be no doubt of the resemblance in the 
instances cited. But the reason of it is simply this : that 



§ 32. Affection and Sensation 95 

health, drowsiness, and bodily comfort are pleasant, i.e., 
that pleasantness is one of the constituent processes, run- 
ning alongside of various sensation processes, in the total 
conscious experience which we call 'health,' etc.; and 
that pain, bodily discomfort, and overtiredness are unpleas- 
ant, i.e., that unpleasantness is one of the processes con- 
tained in each of these complex experiences. Beyond this 
there is no resemblance : a sensation process is radically 
different from a pleasantness or unpleasantness. The 
following considerations will be enough to make the fact 
clear. 

(i) The first great difference between sensations on the 
one hand and pleasantness and unpleasantness on the 
other is that the former are looked upon as more or less 
common property, — as inherent, so to speak, in the 
objects which give rise to them, and therefore as possible 
parts of every one's experience, — while the latter are our 
own peculiar property. Blue seems to belong to the sk}f ; 
but the pleasantness of the blue is in me. Warmth seejn's 
to belong to the burning coals ; but the pleasantness of 
the warmth is in me. Regarded from the point of view of 
the psychologist, blue, warm and pleasant are all mental 
processes, \ all facts of one's own experience; regarded 
from the point of view of ordinary life, blue and warm are 
somehow detachable from oneself and one's personal 
experience, whereas pleasantness is always within oneself. 
The distinction is unhesitatingly drawn in popular thought, 
and clearly shown in language. It points to a real differ- 
ence between sensation and affection as factors in mental 
experience, — a difference which the psychologist must 
make explicit in his definition of the two processes. 

The same difference is observed even when we compare 



96 Affection as a Conscious Element 

the affective processes with those sensations which are 
occasioned from within, by a change in the state of a 
bodily organ. The unpleasantness of a toothache is far 
more personal to me than the pain of it. The pain is ' in 
the tooth ' ; the unpleasantness is as wide as conscious- 
ness.^ So too when the discomfort of a cramped position 
makes me shift in my chair : the muscular and circulatory 
pains proceed from certain parts of the body, but the 
unpleasantness pervades the whole consciousness of the 
moment. Satiety and easy digestion dispose one to a 
favourable view of things in general : the sensations 
which enter into them are referred to the alimentary 
canal, but their pleasantness is diffused over the whole 
mental horizon. 

We may put this first difference between sensation and 
affection briefly as follows : Sensations are objective and 
local, affections are subjective and coextensive with con- 
sciousness. 

It is an obvious corollary to this statement that two affections 
cannot run their course as conscious processes at the same time. 
Nothing can be at once pleasant and unpleasant. 

* Why, then/ it may be asked, ' do we hear of " mixed feel- 
ings"? Why does Shakespeare make Juliet say: "Parting is 
such sweet sorrow" — i.e., a pleasant unpleasantness? Or how 
can Tennyson's Geraint look at the dinnerless mowers with 
"humorous ruth" — i.e., again, with a pleasant unpleasant feel- 
ing ? * The answer is that the nervous system may very well be 
exposed, at different quarters, to stimuli some of which are cata- 
bolic and some anabolic ; some of which, that is, if felt by them- 
selves, would be felt pleasantly, and some of which, if felt alone, 

1 The word ' pain,' as used in ordinary conversation, often means the whole 
toothache experience : pressure sensation, pain sensation and unpleasantness. 
In the text the word is used in its strict meaning, to indicate the common sen- 
sation in the complex (§ 21). 



§ 32. Affection mid Sensation 97 

would be felt unpleasantly. And the attention may oscillate, as 
it were, between the one group and the other ; so that pleasant- 
ness and unpleasantness succeed each another in consciousness 
with great rapidity. The boy leaves home for school with ^ mixed 
feehngs ' ; he is sorry to go (unpleasantness), but his new watch 
partly reconciles him to his fate (pleasantness). Nevertheless, at 
any given moment he is either glad or sorry ; watch-conscious- 
ness and parting-consciousness succeed each other rapidly, but 
never overlap ; there is no moment of combined joy and sorrow. 

(2) If we are exposed for a long time together to the 
same stimulus (and if the sensation which the stimulus 
arouses ds not of a kind to pass over into pain : § 25), we 
cease to be affected by it at all. The cookery of a foreign 
country is, when we first make acquaintance with it, dis- 
tinctly pleasant or unpleasant ; but in either case quickly 
becomes indifferent. Dwellers in the country do not find 
the pleasure in country scents and odours that the towns- 
man does; they have 'grown used' to their surroundings. 
The whir of a sewing machine in the room above that in 
which we are working may at first be extremely annoying ; 
but as we become accustomed to it, its unpleasantness dis- 
appears. The smell of the dissecting room, which sickens 
us at our first entry, does not affect us at all after a little 
time. And it is the same with centrally aroused pleasant- 
ness and unpleasantness \cf. (4) below]. During the first 
few weeks of our stay in a beautiful neighbourhood we 
may be continually delighted with the colours and forms 
of the landscape. But we soon grow indifferent to them : 
fields and streams and hills are seen as clearly as ever, 
but have ceased to excite pleasure. The beauty of a new 
dinner service may be remarked on with pleasure for a 
short time, but ' familiarity breeds ' indifference. On the 

H 



98 Affection as a Conscious Element 

other hand, a piece of vulgarity which at first offends us 
may be taken as a matter of course if constantly repeated 
among those into whose company we are thrown. 

Habituation to an experience, then, weakens or destroys 
the pleasantness or unpleasantness which originally at- 
tached to it. There is no similar weakening or destruc- 
tion of sensations. The noise of the sewing machine is 
heard as clearly as ever, when a friend calls our attention 
to it ; but we smile as we listen, thinking of our earlier 
unpleasant experience. That experience has gone, not to 
reappear. This is the second cardinal difference between 
the two processes. 

' But/ it may be said, ' affection is the way in which the organ- 
ism receives its impressions. How, then, can anything be indiffer- 
ent? We must receive impressions somehow, whether we are 
accustomed to them or not.' We reply that the objection does 
not state the facts quite correctly. Affection is not the ^way,' 
but the * conscious process corresponding to the way ' in which 
the organism receives its impressions. Just as there are stimuli 
which do not arouse a sensation (§ 30), so there is a way of 
receiving impressions, to which no conscious process whatever 
corresponds. To explain this, we must emphasise the biological 
fact of adaptation. The organism is constantly exposed to a 
multitude of impressions : to sights, sounds, changes of tempera- 
ture, organic disturbances, etc. Every one of these does, un- 
doubtedly, exercise a definite effect upon it, for good or for 
harm. But nervous substance, at the same time that it is very 
impressionable, is eminently adaptable. The organism adjusts 
itself to its circumstances, — resigns itself, so to say, to their in- 
evitableness. When once adaptation or adjustment to surround- 
ings is complete, the surroundings cease to be taken either 
pleasantly or unpleasantly : their impressions are simply received, 
passively and unfeelingly. 

'■ Adaptation ' is a biological term. Translated into physiology it 



§ 32. Affect to Ji and Sensation 99 

means that the disturbance of nervous equiUbrium (§31) caused 
by a particular set of stimuU can be adjusted by the lower nerve- 
centres, without appeal to the highest co-ordinating centre [see 
(4) below]. There is enough energy stored in these lower 
centres to repair damage done to the organism by stimulation ; 
and they have functioned in one way so often that they no 
longer need direction, but can be trusted to do what is required 
of them when occasion arises. 

(3) The more closely we attend to a sensation, the 
clearer does it become, and the longer and more accu- 
rately do we remember it. We cannot attend to an affec- 
tion at all. If we attempt to do so, the pleasantness or 
unpleasantness at once eludes us and disappears, and we 
find ourselves attending to some obtrusive sensation or 
idea which we had no desire to observe. If we wish to 
get pleasure from a beautiful picture, we must attend 
to the picture : if, with our eyes on it, we try to attend 
to our feelings, the pleasantness of the experience is 
gone. 

This difference becomes intelligible when we remember that 
affection corresponds to the way in which the organism receives 
its impressions. We can never attend to a way, a manner or 
mode of acting or being acted on. Suppose that we wish to 
know ' how ' a steam-engine works. We attend to the parts of 
the machine, note the different positions which they assume, etc., 
and so form an idea of the manner in which the engine works. 
We can attend to this idea easily enough ; we can attend to any 
idea. But the idea of the way is not the way : that, in the nature 
of things, cannot be attended to. 

(4) We have seen that sensations arise in two ways 
(§ 7), — from peripheral stimulation (flash of yellow light) 
and from central excitation (remembrance or imagination 
of yellow). As a general rule, 'central' sensations are 



100 Affection as a Conscious Element 

much fainter and weaker than 'peripheral.' A remem- 
bered noise has hardly anything of the intensity of the 
noise as heard. Affection can originate in the same 
two ways. But ' central ' pleasantness and unpleasantness 
are not only as strong as — they are in very many cases 
stronger than — 'peripheral.' 

Pleasantness and unpleasantness can be set up peripherally by 
an impression affecting any sensory nerve. The balance of 
anabolism and catabolism, of loss and gain, may be disturbed 
at any point of the peripheral nervous system. They can be 
set up centrally, again, by an excitation within any sensory area 
of the cortex, — the visual centre, the auditory centre, etc. But 
it is necessary in both cases that the disturbance be carried to 
the highest ' co-ordinating centre ' of the brain, — the cortex of the 
frontal lobes. If the experience is indifferent, — if the stimulus 
is too weak to force its way through the lower centres, or has be- 
come habitual, i.e., can be disposed of by the lower centres, — 
the frontal lobes are unaffected. They are the scene of anabolic 
processes (well supplied with oxygenated blood) if the experience 
is pleasant ; of catabolic (scantily supplied with oxygen and feebly 
irrigated by arterial blood) , if it is unpleasant. 

There are very few ' peripheral ' affections which can success- 
fully compete with the * central' affections in the civilised mind. 
Different men are differently constituted ; we find one succumbing 
to the passion of sexual lust, another to the pleasures of the palate, 
etc. But the only peripheral affection which can be counted upon 
to conquer central affection in the average mind is the unpleasant- 
ness which accompanies an extreme intensity of the common sen- 
sation of pain : and even this rule has exceptions. Instances of 
the contrary are plentiful: pleasure in work (central) makes us for- 
get our dinner hour and the pleasure of eating (peripheral) ; the 
glow of pleasure attending a good action (central) leads us to go 
out of doors in bad weather (peripheral unpleasantness) ; fear of 
ridicule (central unpleasantness) prevents our rising to close a win- 
dow in a draughty concert hall (peripheral unpleasantness), etc. 



§ 33- ^^^^ Methods of Investigating Affection loi 

We see, then, that there are strong reasons for regard- 
ing affection as different from sensation. It must be 
carefully noted that the statements just given of these 
reasons do not tell us hozv ' red,' a sensation, differs from 
' pleasant,' an affection, in mental experience. They are 
sufficient indication that a real difference exists ; but the 
difference itself cannot be described, — it must be expe- 
rienced. 

§ 33. The Methods of investigating Affection. — There are 
two chief difficulties in the way of affective investigation. 
We cannot attend to a pleasantness or unpleasantness ; 
and we can describe our affective experience only in a 
roundabout way. Hence if we were confined exclusively 
to the employment of psychological method, — the method 
of experimental introspection, — we should find it very 
hard to give an adequate account of affective experience. 
Fortunately, we can supplement this direct method by an 
indirect, physiological method, which allows us to infer the 
presence and intensity of affective processes from their 
bodily consequences. 

The second difficulty — that of describing affection — must not 
be confused with the difficulty of defining affection. It is just as 
easy to define affection as to define sensation, if we understand 
by definition a statement (i) of the simplicity of the processes^ 
(2) of their bodily conditions and (3) of their qualities. 

The difficulty of describing affection lies in the fact that spoken 
language — words and sentences — communicates ideas, and ideas 
only. If I say ' I am very angry,' you know that I am angry, but 
you do not feel my anger. A verbal description of affection is 
therefore always a description at second hand; it translates the 
affection into an idea of affection, and conveys to the hearer not 
a pleasantness or unpleasantness, but simply an idea of pleasant- 
ness or unpleasantness. 



I02 Affection as a Conscious Element 

There is, however, an affective language proper : the language 
of exclamation and gesture. We have learnt, in the course of 
civilisation, to repress our emotions : we rarely use this language, 
and if on occasion we wish to do so, are apt to make ourselves 
ridiculous. But that the language might have been developed 
cannot be doubted by any one who has observed dogs and mon- 
keys, or has seen the effect produced upon an audience by some 
great actor's presentation of pity or despair. 

(i) Psychological Method, — A series is formed of 
stimuli which belong to the same sense department (col- 
oured papers, woollen fabrics, etc.). Each in turn is pre- 
sented to the observer, who gives it his complete attention, 
and when it has produced its full effect for sensation, asks 
himself whether it is pleasant or vmpleasant, and whether 
it is more or less pleasant or unpleasant than preceding 
impressions. The rule of experimental introspection in 
the sphere of affection will accordingly run as follows {cf. 
§ 9): Have yottrself placed under such conditions that there is 
as little likelihood as possible of external interference with 
the test to be made. Attend to each stimulus as it is pre- 
sented^ andy when it is remove d^ form an idea (§ ^^ of the 
pleasantness or unpleasantness zvhich yoic felt during its 
observation. Put this idea into words ^ stating {\) whether 
it is an idea of pleasjirable affection, itnpleasiLrable affection 
or indifference, and (2) in the tzvo former cases, whether it 
is an idea of m,uch or little, more or less, pleasantriess or 
unpleasantness. The assistant's account of the conditions, 
and your own verbal translation {i.e., translation into 
ideas) of your affective experience furnish data from 
which other psychologists can work. 

It is probable that in every series of stimuli, such as this method 
requires, there will be some accustomed or habitual impressions. 



§ 33- '^^^^ Methods of Investigating Affectioji 103 

which are neither pleasant nor unpleasant. These must be marked 
'indifferent.' Indifference is not a third affective quality: the 
indifferent impression is one from which affection has ' worn off.' 

(2) Physiological Method. — Affection appears when 
there is a general alteration of the nervous system, in- 
cluding its highest co-ordinating organ, by way of anabo- 
lism or catabolism : in the one case we have pleasantness, 
in the other unpleasantness. Such an alteration will, of 
course, show itself in certain bodily effects. Seeing these 
effects, and knowing that the cause of them • — the nervous 
change — is the bodily condition of affection, we are able 
to turn them to account for psychological purposes. 

The principal bodily effects are four in number. We 
find that pleasantness is attended (i) by increase of bodily 
volume, due to the expansion of arteries running just 
beneath the skin ; (2) by deepened breathing ; (3) by 
heightened pulse ; and (4) by increase of muscular power. 
Unpleasantness is accompanied by the reverse phenom- 
ena of lessened volume, light breathing, weak pulse, and 
diminished muscular power. There are special physio- 
logical instruments by which each of these manifestations 
can "be measured. If we arrange them so that they record 
the state of the subject's pulse, muscular strength, etc., 
and then bring to bear upon him various forms of stimula- 
tion, calculated to call up pleasantness and unpleasantness 
in varying degrees, we can infer from the changes in the 
records how he has * felt ' from moment to moment of the 
experiment. Introspection is here altogether unnecessary. 

Let us suppose that the subject is ' in position ' : the chest con- 
nected with an instrument which writes the respiration curve, the 
rise and fall of the chest in inspiration and expiration, the left 
wrist with another, which marks the pulse beats, the right leg with 



I04 Affection as a Conscious Ele^jient 

a third, which registers volume, and the right hand ready at com- 
mand to grip the handle of a * dynamometer,' which will record 
the amount of muscular force that the hand can put forth. He 
is told that, whatever happens, he must remain still, in order that 
the various instruments may not be deranged ; and he is told 
further that the unpleasant stimuli to be employed are not so very 
unpleasant that he need have any great apprehension of what will 
happen to him. After a short time has elapsed, a spoonful of 
some colourless liquid is poured into his mouth. In spite of the 
assurances given, the records will probably show some trace of 
agitation at this moment. However, if the liquid is sweet, the 
pleasantness of the stimulus will at once make itself apparent in 
the curves, and on the scale of the dynamometer. After another 
brief interval another stimulus is given : perhaps another sweet, 
perhaps a bitter, perhaps a tasteless solution. The resulting pleas- 
antness, unpleasantness or indifference will be clearly marked by 
the instruments. 

The general rules for the introspection of affection are 
the same as those for the introspection of sensation. We 
must be (i) impartial, (2) closely attentive to the stimuli, 
(3) fresh and (4) well-disposed. The last condition is es- 
pecially important. For the way in which we receive 
impressions must naturally vary as our * mood ' varies. 
If we are unusually cheerful, all the stimuli of the series 
will tend to be pleasant ; if we are depressed and melan- 
choly, the experiment and everything connected with it are 
likely to be unpleasant. The subject's mood must be care- 
fully observed and noted by the assistant before the ex- 
perimental series is begun. 

This last rule applies, with even greater stringency, to 
investigation by the physiological method. We must be 
quite certain that the pulse, volume, etc., recorded by the 
various instruments at the beginning of the experiments 



§ 34- ^^^^ Attributes of Affection 105 

represent a mental indifference on the part of the observer. 
The bodily expressions of affection have no value at all, 
unless we know precisely what the state of the body is 
before affection appears in consciousness. If we always 
begin with indifference, increase or decrease of pulse, mus- 
cular strength, etc., as recorded by the instruments from 
day to day, gives us a reliable measure of the variations in 
quality and intensity of the affective process under different 
experimental conditions. 

§ 34. The Attributes of Affection. — Affection has two 
qualities^ — pleasantness and unpleasantness. Each of 
these qualities may appear at very different degrees of 
intensity, and, when present, may last for a longer or 
shorter time. Neither, of course, has the attribute of spa- 
tial extent, though we may say, in metaphorical language, 
that the affection of any moment is ^ coextensive with con- 
sciousness.' 

All three attributes — quality, intensity and duration — 
call for brief notice here. "" ^ 

(i) Quality. — We have already spoken of the general 
bodily conditions under which the two affective qualities 
appear in consciousness. But we cannot say anything 
certainly of the degree of nervous loss or gain which cor- 
responds to a particular intensity of pleasantness or un- 
pleasantness. Hence in practical life we always refer 
affections to stimuli, to the external occurrences which 
eem to give rise to them. And in recording the results 
f experiments upon affection — whether made by the 
psychological or the johysiological method — we find it 
necessary to give the special conditions of their appear- 
ance, i.e., to name the external stimuli which called them 
forth on each particular occasion. A general rule has 



lo6 Affection as a Conscious Element 

been formulated, on the basis of experiments thus re- 
corded, to the effect that, other things equal, weak stimuli 
are indifferent, stimuli of moderate intensity pleasant, and 
strong stimuli unpleasant. 

" Other things equal " is a very needful qualification. If other 
things are not equal, — if the peripheral affection be reinforced or 
checked by a central, — the rule does not hold. Thus, if we are 
seeking to ascertain the minimal sensation intensity, a weak stim- 
ulus may be absorbingly interesting, instead of being indifferent, 
as the rule says. 

The ' weak ' stimuli of the rule are those which cannot over- 
come the resistance of the lower nerve-centres, and force their 
way through them to the frontal lobes. Stimuli of this sort are 
neither pleasant nor unpleasant. ' Moderate ' stimuli are those 
which call upon the bodily organs to exercise their normal func- 
tion, and thus further growth and development. ' Strong ' stimuli 
are those which make too severe demands upon the organs, /.<?., 
favour cataboHsm. The rule cannot be made more definite, since 
' strong ' and ' weak,' always relative terms, are here doubly relative. 
( I ) They are relative in that they vary with the quality of sensa- 
tion. It takes far more sweet to make a strong sweet than it takes 
bitter to make a strong bitter ; it takes a far louder bass note 
than treble note to make a strong auditory stimulus. (2) They 
are relative in that they vary with the excitability of nervous sub- 
stance. What is strong to one man may be weak to another, or 
even to the same nervous system at another time. ' Strong ' and 
' weak,' that is, change in meaning as the conditions change under 
which they are applied. 

The rule only holds good, again, for stimuli of certain dura- 
tions. A weak stimulus, long continued, has the same effect upon 
the organism as a moderate stimulus, operative for a short time. 
A stimulus of moderate intensity ceases to be pleasant if its opera- 
tion is prolonged. We either grow accustomed, z>,, become indif- 
ferent, to it, or we find it unpleasant. Physiology teaches us that a 
continued stimulation, to which the organism has not adapted itself, 



§ 34- '^^^^ Attributes of Affection 107 

decreases the excitability of nervous substance, making towards 
catabolism. For the same reason an irregular recurrence of stim- 
ulation, in whatever sense department, is unpleasant : flickering 
light, ' pins and needles,' jarring sounds, etc. Lastly, a strong 
stimulus, if it act only for a short time, may be sensed and felt 
as would a moderate stimulus, longer continued. This is seen, 
e.g.^ in the carrying or lifting of weights. 

(2) Intensity. — It has been suggested — and the sug- 
gestion is not improbable — that if the intensity of pleas- 
antness or unpleasantness is to be increased by equal 
amounts, its stimuli must increase by relatively equal 
amounts (Weber's law). If my library contains 100 vol- 
umes, and 10 more are given me, I am as pleased as I 
should be by an addition of 100 to a library of 1000. At 
any rate, it is true, as a general rule, that what causes us 
pleasure and displeasure is proportional to our income, 
station in life, etc. A child is pleased by a gift to which 
an adult would be indifferent. 

The stamp which completes a *set' in the school-boy's album 
gives him as much pleasure as the acquisition of the last farm 
which completes the ring-fence gives the wealthy landed pro- 
prietor. And an ironical phrase or sarcastic expression of face 
wounds a sensitive mind as much as an open rebuff or direct 
affront affects one of coarser fibre. 

(3) Duration. — The duration of a pleasantness or un- 
pleasantness can hardly be estimated. It is very difficult 
to say just when we cease to be affected by an event and 
become indifferent to it. Moreover, a peripheral affection 
is almost invariably blended with and continued in a 
central ; and as the two are precisely the same in quality, 
nothing can be said of the time at which the one ceases 
and the other begins. 



io8 Affection as a Conscious Element 

^'How delightful ! — Who could have sent it ! " is the exclama- 
tion that we all make when we receive an unexpected present 
from an unknown giver. The peripheral pleasantness is hardly 
there before we begin to imagine reasons for the gift, cast round 
for the giver, etc., i.e., before a central affection is added to ito 
And on the other side : how much of our chagrin at a fall on a 
slippery path is due to peripheral unpleasantness accompanying 
the pain of the bruise, and how much to central unpleasantness — 
"How stupid of me to slip!"? Only in very extreme cases, 
during intense pain, is the affection exclusively peripheral, and in 
these cases there is generally a rapid passage to unconsciousness 
(swoon or faint). 



CHAPTER VI 

Conation and Attention 

§ 35. Bodily Tendency and Mental Constitution. — In the 
last chapter we dwelt upon the fact that the organism 
receives impressions in a certain way : the consciousness 
of any moment is made up, not of sensations alone, but of 
sensations and affection. Having now examined the con- 
scious processes which correspond to the ' impressions ' 
and to the 'way in which they are received,' we have, 
in the present chapter, to consider the nature of the ' or- 
ganism * itself, — to enquire whether there are any organic 
functions or processes, altogether independent of stimu- 
lus, with which other specific conscious processes are 
connected. 

We may define an organism, from our present stand- 
point, as a bundle of tendencies. A tendency is, by deriva- 
tion, a * stretching towards.' The living body, as we have 
regarded it hitherto, consists of two things : the sense- 
organs and the nervous system. The sense-organs are 
instruments which work in pretty much the same way for 
all normal persons. The same sense stimulus will always 
give rise to the same sensation : a certain ether-wave 
arouses the sensation of blue in all normal eyes, a body 
of a certain chemical constitution arouses the sensation of 
sweet on all normal tongues. And at any given time, each 

man's nervous system — the most complicated and most 

109 



no Conation and Attention 

highly developed part of his body — responds, as a whole, 
in the same way to the same attributes of stimulus. Mod- 
erate stimulation is pleasant, excessive or intermittent 
stimulation unpleasant. But we have seen that there is a 
great difference between different nervous systems, and in 
the same nervous system at different times : a particular 
sense stimulus, while it always produces the same effects 
in the sense-organ and the part of the brain with which 
the organ is most directly connected, does 7tot always pro- 
duce the same effect upon the total nervous system. 
What is pleasant to one man now may be unpleasant or 
indifferent to another, and to himself at another time. As 
between different nervous systems, these differences show 
themselves antecedently to any habituation of the organ- 
ism to the impression. 

In biological language, the differences are differences of 
tendency. The nervous system has, in every individual 
case, certain definite leanings, a bias in certain definite 
directions. It is more inclined, better fitted, to receive 
certain impressions than to receive others. In physio- 
logical language, the functions of the nervous system dif- 
fer, in degree if not in kind, in every individual case. The 
nervous system, regarded as a machine, is a machine which 
can do one kind of work and not another, — or, if it does 
this other, can do it less thoroughly ; and the kind of 
work, or the thoroughness of its doing, varies from man 
to man. 

We may compare different nervous systems to different 
languages. The general function of all languages is the 
same, — the communication of ideas ; and the general 
function of all nervous systems is the same. But just as 
different languages are differently adapted to the perform- 



§ 35- Bodily Tendertcy aitd Mental Constitution in 

ance of special functions, — Italian is the language to sing 
in, German the language to philosophise in, French the 
language for science, English the language of commerce 
and practical intercourse, — so different nervous systems 
are differently adapted to the performance of special func- 
tions. They have a * tendency ' towards the performance 
of one, while there is friction of the machinery, more or 
less serious, if they are called upon to perform others. 

The question how tendencies originate is one for the biologist, 
not the psychologist, to answer. We can merely note here that 
some are ' natural ' and some ' acquired.' 

(i) Natural Tendencies. — The history of an individual does 
not begin with his first appearance in the world as an individual, 
an independent centre of experiences, but goes far back to the 
very beginnings of hfe. Our natural, i.e., inherited tendencies are 
derived largely from our parents, but in part also from their parents, 
and in part from remote ancestors. Plainly, we cannot trace the 
history of such tendencies very fully or very far. But it is sufficient 
for our present purpose to recognise that every living being is 
naturally ' selective,' in greater or less degree, — has ' affinities ' 
for certain stimuli, as chemical elements have ' affinities ' for cer- 
tain other elements : its surroundings do not all appeal to it with 
equal force ; there are lines of less resistance and Hnes of greater 
resistance along which its functions may be discharged. 

(2) Acqui^-ed Tendencies. — The strength of the natural ten- 
dencies, however, is very different in different individuals ; and the 
child's nervous system is very plastic, very easily moulded. Hence 
habit may become second nature : a tendency engrafted on the 
organism from without may come to such a growth as entirely to 
overshadow its natural or hereditary leanings. Many a young man 
whose * taste ' is for art has entered upon a business life with great 
reluctance and only under the pressure of necessity ; but when he 
has assured himself a competency, and is in a position to relinquish 
business for his old pursuits, the routine of work has so strong a 
hold upon him that there is no question of any change of occupa- 
tion. 



112 Conation and Attention 

Now as we have found that certain local excitations 
within the nervous system are attended by a specific con- 
scious process, — sensation; and that the change of equi- 
librium brought about in the nervous system as a whole by 
the action of stimuli is also attended by a specific conscious 
process, — affection ; we might naturally suppose that there 
would be a specific conscious process, a third elementary 
process, alongside of sensation and affection, correspond- 
ing to the bias or leaning of the nervous system. But intro- 
spection affords no confirmation of this view. It does not 
reveal any trace of a third conscious element, accompany- 
ing the bodily tendency, the *set' of the nervous system 
for the discharge of particular functions. 

On the other hand, there can be no doubt that, as the 
condition of mental ' constitution,' bodily tendencies are of 
great importance for psychology. They mark out the paths, 
so to speak, which mental processes in general are to follow. 
No specific mental process is due to them, in the sense in 
which the specific sensation of red is due to a special ex- 
citation of retina and visual brain centre; but they cut the 
channels in which the stream of conscious processes flows, 
and consequently determine the direction which the stream 
is to take. 

That minds differ, although the processes which make them up 
are of the same nature, is obvious. Differences of mental consti- 
tution show themselves in differences of character, temperament, 
ability, preferred employment, etc. One man is ' steady,' another 
' unreliable ' ; one is ' emotional,' another ' phlegmatic ' ; one ' tal- 
ented,' another ' stupid ' ; one devoted to music, another equally 
enamoured of the study of medicine. 

Many proverbial expressions bear witness to the same fact. 
"The poet is born, not made" and "The child' is father of the 
man " point to the existence and persistence of a peculiar mental 



§ 35- Bodily Tendency and Mental ConstittUion 113 

constitution, — corresponding, in the one case, to a natural ten- 
dency, and in the other to natural tendencies as modified by edu- 
cation, i.e., by acquired tendencies. When we see that a man is 
unfitted by character, temperament, etc., for his post, we say that 
he is " a square peg in a round hole " ; and by his ' squareness ' 
we mean his mental constitution, the mould of his character or the 
bent of his temperament. The prayer " Lead us not into tempta- 
tion " is an admission that conscious processes run in certain chan- 
nels more easily than in other channels, i.e., in biological language, 
that the organism leans in a certain direction, is more impression- 
able by certain stimuli than by others. 

We represented mind, in Fig. i, as a complex of processes, 
increasing in complication from childhood to manhood, and de- 
creasing again from middle life to old age. We now see that, 
if the diagram is to be accurate, it must be drawn differently for 
every individual mind. Bodily tendency conditions the shape of 
the diagram. Mind is a stream of processes flowing between 
banks, through channels which are now deep-cut and now shallow, 
which lead now in this direction and now in that, which now incline 
easily downwards and now run at the same level. Just as the 
course of a river is determined by the nature of the country 
through which it passes, so the course or trend of mind is deter- 
mined by the nature of the nervous system, by the predominance 
of the one or the other biological tendency. 

To establish the fact of differences of mental constitu- 
tion in a scientific way, we must observe our neighbours' 
minds in the light of an introspective analysis of our own. 
Two methods are open to us here, (i) We may compare 
the statements of other psychologists with our own intro- 
spective results. Then we find, perhaps, that one, wishing 
to recall the French equivalent of an English word, tries 
to remember how it looks, and another how it sounds ; that 
the memory of one is * mechanical,' a storehouse of sepa- 
rate facts, while that of another is ' logical,' the facts re- 



114 Conation and Attentio7t 

membered falling into connection and taking their places 
in a coherent and unified system of knowledge ; that one 
reaches his conclusions * inductively,' gathering together a 
collection of instances, and seeking to find a single expla- 
nation for them all, while another argues 'deductively,' 
jumping at once from a few instances to a general hy- 
pothesis, and then testing this by applying it to other 
instances ; and so on. (2) Or we may construct our 
neighbour's consciousness from his actions, reasoning by 
analogy that as our mental processes are of certain kinds 
when we act in a certain way, his mental processes must 
be of this or that kind, when he acts in this or that man- 
ner. And we are forced to the conclusion, here as before, 
that the course or trend of conscious processes differs very 
considerably in different individuals. Similar stimuli have 
widely different effects : the series of mental processes 
set up by them, — so far as it can be inferred from actions, 
— may be altogether dissimilar. The beetle crossing your 
path is intensely interesting to you, if you are an entomolo- 
gist, but may go unheeded, or even be an object of repug- 
nance, if you are not. A blow which ' crushes ' one man 
only serves to * bring out ' the character of another, who 
'rises to the occasion.' 

From observations of this kind we are led to classify 
minds under general headings. We are helped in two 
ways : we are constantly in the company of other people, 
and thus continually have thrust upon our notice the re- 
semblances and differences which obtain between them 
and ourselves ; and we are sorted out, during childhood, 
into classes which show how our mental constitution is 
regarded by parents and teachers, — into ' good ' and 
'naughty,' 'scatter-brained' and 'plodding,' 'ingenious' 



§ 35- Bodily Tendency and Mental Constitution 115 

and 'awkward.' So we come to think of minds as repre- 
senting different types : we classify our neighbours and 
ourselves as dull or clever, sanguine or melancholy, ready- 
witted or absent-minded, and so on. Although our bodily 
tendencies never become conscious, — introspection can- 
not discover any specific tendency-process, — yet we find 
mental phenomena which may legitimately be brought into 
connection with those undisputed biological facts to which 
the name of 'tendencies' is given. In this way we are 
able, as psychologists, to assert the existence of tendencies, 
despite the impossibility of any direct experience of them. 

To emphasise stil] further the fact that the tendency does not 
correspond to a specific conscious process, and that therefore we 
have no direct knowledge of it, let us suppose that there were but 
one man in the world, and he an enthusiastic botanist. He would 
never know that he had a leaning towards the study of plants. 
There would be no opportunity for a comparison of his pursuits 
with those of other men, which would teach him that ' botanic 
consciousness ' and ' human consciousness ' are not identical ex- 
pressions. He could describe, by introspection, all his sensations 
and affections ; but the existence of tendency would escape his 
notice altogether, because introspection would not reveal it. 

In social life, on the other hand, where we can compare mind 
with mind, the manifestations of tendency are too evident to be 
overlooked. We know what various interests different people 
have ; we know what radically different opinions two sane persons, 
the one ' emotionally ' and the other ' rationally ' minded, will draw 
from the same set of arguments ; we know the ' professional atti- 
tude ' of the lawyer and physician and clergyman to the questions 
of the day. There are thus ample materials from which the idea 
of tendency may be formed, and good reasons for its persistence 
when it has once taken shape. 

We may summarise the results of this Section in two 
propositions, (i) Tendencies and the causes of tenden- 



Ii6 Conation and Attention 

cies are in themselves phenomena which belong exclu- 
sively to the domain of physiology and biology. There 
is no tendency-process to be found in consciousness, co-or- 
dinate with the processes of sensation and affection. (2) 
But a comparison of minds enables us to form an idea of 
mental types or constitutions ; and having learned from 
biology of the existence of tendencies, we are able to point 
to these as the conditions of mental constitution, and thus 
to account for fundamental differences between mind and 
mind which we could not otherwise have explained. 

It should be noted that the present is a signal instance of the 
way in which one science may render assistance to another in the 
solution of a difficult problem. If we had confined our discussion 
to the sphere of psychology pure and simple, and employed the 
introspective method only, we should have been obHged to give a 
mere statement of the facts of mental constitution, coupled with 
the admission that we had no explanation of them to offer. To 
avoid this necessity, we have asked what biology has to say of the 
influences exerted upon the organism by heredity and environ- 
ment. By thus putting the individual mind in the perspective of 
mental evolution, we are able to dispose of the difficulty in a satis- 
factory way. 

§ 36. The Question of a Third Conscious Element. — We 

have seen that the facts of mental constitution are so 
patent that they must be recognised and accounted for ; 
but that introspection is, in the nature of things, incapable 
of furnishing the required explanation. Let us suppose, 
however, that a psychologist, confronted with the facts, 
does not think of going to biology for their reason, but 
attempts, in spite of all difficulties, to keep within the 
territory of psychology itself. If we follow out his argu- 
ment we shall be able to understand a common view of the 



§ S^- Question of a Third Conscious Element 1 1 7 

nature of mind, — a view different from that which we 
have ourselves adopted (§3), but still so widely prevalent 
among educated persons as to seem, doubtless, to many 
readers, almost self-evident. 

The psychologist of whom we are thinking will argue 
somewhat as follows. "We must, in every science, give 
the reason for what we observe. Now the reason for a 
sensation or an affection is obvious enough : it is always 
some observable change in the outside world or in con- 
sciousness, — the presentation of some stimulus or the 
arousal of some idea. But the reason for mental constitu- 
tion cannot be found in the action of stimulus : the consti- 
tution is there, before the stimulus acts, — as is shown by 
the effect of the beetle upon the entomologist. Neither 
can it be found in any preceding conscious processes : it is 
the business of mental constitution to decide, as it were, 
what our mental processes are to be, — entomological ideas 
or the feeling of disgust. No ! to give a reason for the 
direction or trend of consciousness as a whole, we must 
assume the existence of a permanent mind behind the 
stream of conscious processes. The manifestations of 
mental type are obvious ; but we cannot explain them in 
terms of physical or mental process. Hence we must 
infer that consciousness is something active and directive, 
able to shape and mould its own processes, and to origi- 
nate lines of thought or feeling." 

It is not too much to say that belief in the activity or 
spontaneity of mind is almost universal ; though the fact 
that the activity is, in the first place, not directly experi- 
enced as a conscious process, but inferred from the run 
or trend of conscious processes in general, is less univer- 
sally recognised. And the belief is by no means confined 



Ii8 Conation and Attention 

to popular thinking; it has had a marked influence upon 
psychology. 

Since our supposed psychologist has gone beyond introspection, 
and has drawn inferences from the phenomena of consciousness to 
the existence of something behind consciousness which introspec- 
tion does not reveal, he has been forced, in spite of his resolve, to 
leave the ground of psychology proper and to appeal for help to 
some science which is not psychology. The science to which 
he appeals is metaphysics (§ 3) ; our own appeal was made to 
biology. 

Metaphysics is the science which unifies and harmonises the 
principles and laws of all the other sciences. It follows from this 
that the discussions of metaphysics are always couched in general 
and abstract terms ; and that it is wrong to appeal to it for an ex- 
planation of a single concrete fact. Just as, within the hmits of 
psychology, we should not explain the appearance of a particular 
conscious process — an emotion of hope, e.g. — by appealing to 
mental constitution, and saying that the subject of the emotion 
was naturally sanguine, but should look round for the special con- 
ditions of this particular hope ; so, within the limits of science at 
large, we may not explain the appearance of a single phenomenon 
— the phenomenon of mental constitution — by appealing to meta- 
physics. Mental constitution is one particular scientific fact, and 
the emotion of hope is another. Both must be scientifically ex- 
plained, not metaphysically : both must be explained, that is, by 
a statement, in the terms of some special science, of the conditions 
under which they appear.^ 

Nevertheless, the metaphysical view is the common view. And 
the conviction of mankind at large, and its embodiment in cur- 
rent modes of expression, are usually strong enough to dominate 
our thought and language except on occasions of scientific investi- 
gation and discussion. The phrases which every one naturally 

1 Whether or not the inference of mental activity is justifiable from the total 
sum of mental phenomena is a question which we can attempt to answer only 
at the conclusion of our examination of mind. We shall recur to it, therefore, 
in our final chapter (Ch. XV). 



§ 3^- Question of a Third Conscious Element 1 19 

uses in describing the phenomena of attention give a striking 
illustration of this fact. It is hardly possible to speak of attention 
without using such expressions as : "I turn my attention to," or 
'' I direct my attention upon," — expressions which, if understood 
literally, would make the ' I ' a source of spontaneous activity, and 
the ' attention ' a sort of lantern which the ' I ' holds in its hands. 

Let us now follow the argument of our imaginary psy- 
chologist a little farther. *' I am convinced," he may go on, 
*' that there is a permanent mind behind the various types 
of mind, behind the varying manifestations of mind in 
conscious processes ; and I am convinced that this mind 
is active and directive. Surely, this permanent and active 
mind must manifest its activity in some specific conscious 
process t Surely, there must be something other than sen- 
sations and affections to be found in mental experience .-^ 
Introspection must decide : and introspection does decide 
— in the affirmative. I find two conscious processes 
which give me a direct experience of activity or sponta- 
neity : conation and attention. My original inference, then, 
was plainly correct ; it is confirmed by introspection. Not 
only must we infer from the facts of mind that mind is 
active; we have a direct experience of mental activity in 
certain well-marked conscious processes." 

It is here that the belief in mental spontaneity begins to 
exert an influence upon scientific psychology. The argu- 
ment has taken on a new character : the venue is changed. 
Mental activity is no longer a metaphysical inference from 
the facts of mind ; it is announced as an item of mental 
experience. And it thus becomes the business of the psy- 
chologist carefully to examine the processes which are 
said to bear witness to its reality ; for the acceptance or 
rejection of a third elementary conscious process — an 



120 Conation and Attention 

activity-process — is no light matter. The entire course 
of our subsequent psychological analysis, the fashion of 
our whole psychological system, will depend upon the 
decision to which our present enquiry leads. 

It is important that the difference between inferred activity 
(metaphysical) and experienced activity (psychological) should 
be fully understood. We have refused to iiifer activity from the 
facts of mental constitution, because we thought it better, on prin- 
ciple, to appeal to other special sciences before we asked assist- 
ance from metaphysics, and because biology answered our appeal, 
and enabled us to give a reasonable explanation of the phenomena. 
But we cannot refuse to accept the verdict of introspection, if 
introspection says that there is a mental process of an ^ active ' 
quality, a mental experience which cannot be described except by 
the term * activity ' or * spontaneity.' No sensation or affection 
has this ' active ' quality. 

And, physiologically, the existence of such a process is quite 
conceivable. Tendency may '■ set ' the cortex in a certain way, 
without arousing any conscious process ; just as we * set ' an alarum- 
clock, without causing the bell to sound. But when the catch is 
released, the bell rings ; and when the * set ' of the cortex is released, 
' touched off ' in some way or other, a new mental process may 
be originated. The alleged active quality does not correspond to 
tendency, but to the ^ touch off' of tendency; not to the 'set' 
of the brain, but to the release of that set. It is not the fact of 
mental constitution which is becoming conscious when the new 
quaHty appears, but rather some specific realisation of mental con- 
stitution, say, the rush of an idea, aroused by external stimulus, 
into the channel which tendency has dug for it. 

Our rejection of the activity-inference, then, need not impair 
our impartiality with regard to the suggested activity-experience. 
If we find this, we can very well give it a place, without changing 
our definition of mind and consciousness. 

§ 37. Conation. — 'Conation' is the general name given 
to the experience of effort or endeavour, in whatever con- 



§ 37- Conation 121 

nection it occurs. The * conative consciousness ' is a con- 
sciousness which consists principally, or at least very 
noticeably, of the experience of effort. What we have 
to do, then, is to collect instances of this experience, and 
to assure ourselves, by repeated analysis and reconstruc- 
tion (§ 4), that it does or does not contain some specific 
conscious process other than sensation and affection. 

The reason that the psychologist, who has inferred mental 
activity from the facts of mental constitution, points to the ex- 
perience of effort as a confirmation of his inference, is this. Effort 
is always involved, to some extent, in our experience of bodily 
exertion, continued bodily movement. Now the causes of bodily 
movement are not seldom beyond the reach of introspection : 
while in many cases we can trace, by careful introspection, the 
reason for a movement, there are many other cases in which we 
cannot. We should ourselves explain the facts by saying that 
many of the unconscious bodily tendencies are tendencies to 
movement, and that therefore the reasons for certain move- 
ments must be asked from biology and not from psychology. 
Our imagined psychologist has just the same facts before him 
that we have, and is just as little able as we are to explain 
them by appeal to introspection. But he refuses to ask biology 
to assist him in the solution of a psychological problem ; and there- 
fore sees in movement, not a change in the organism due to physi- 
cal causes, but an expression of spontaneous activity ; and in the 
conscious experience of effort which accompanies movement, not 
a complex of sensations and affection, but a specific mental process, 
the quality of which corresponds to that spontaneous activity. 

Or we may put the reason in another way. We speak not of 
the movements of our fellow-men, but of their ' actions.' Men- 
tal ^ activity ' is regarded as precisely hke the ' activity ' which the 
living human organism shows in its actions. Hence it is natural 
that the experience which accompanies action should be the first 
experience examined by those who expect to find evidence of 
mental activity in some definite conscious process. 



122 Conation and Attention 

The experience of effort occurs in many different con- 
nections. It always accompanies violent or long-continued 
bodily movement, the movements, e.g.y of fencing or of 
dumb-bell exercises. It is contained in the experience 
of resistance, as when we hold a door against some one 
who is trying to force his way into the room, or 'bear 
up' against some 'pressing' care. It appears also in the 
states of mind (the 'consciousnesses') which we call im- 
pulse, wish, desire, longing, aspiration; and in the experi- 
ences of * trying to remember,' ' trying to make up one's 
mind,' etc. All these cases, then, must be introspectively 
examined. 

The first thing which introspection reveals is that effort 
is, like idea, a compound conscious process. Whether it 
contains a specific quality — a new conscious element — or 
not, it certainly comprises sensations and affection. The 
affection may be pleasantness or unpleasantness, accord- 
ing to the degree or amount of effort involved in the 
particular experience. The sensations are sensations of 
strain (tendinous), and the sensations which accompany 
movement (sensations of cutaneous and articular pressure, 
and of muscular contraction). 

No one will doubt that these sensations are present in the first 
three instances given of effort : fencing, dumb-bell exercise, hold- 
ing a door. Their presence in the other experiences mentioned 
may seem to be less clear. 

We must remember, however, that sensations may be aroused 
centrally (remembered or imagined) as well as peripherally (by 
the action of stimulus) ; and that they are just as much sensations 
in the former case as in the latter (§ 7). If, then, an actual 
movement and actual strain sensations can make up the experi- 
ence of effort, so can also remembered or imagined movement 
and remembered or imaghied strain sensations. Let the reader 



§ 37- Conation 123 

analyse his consciousness when next he thinks : " I do wish it was 
dinner-time ! " He will find that it contains a pleasantness, con- 
nected with the idea of dinner, and various ideas of himself going 
to his dinner, i,e., making some bodily exertion. If the wish is 
very strong, however, he will find more than this : there will be 
real beginnings of movement in his body, a real beginning of ris- 
ing from the chair, or a turn to the wash-stand, or a passing of 
the hand over the hair, — the imagined movements and imagined 
sensations will be mixed with actual movements and actual sensa- 
tions aroused by them. Or again : suppose that one were paint- 
ing a picture to illustrate the phrase : " I do long to go to Italy ! " 
One would paint a figure seated in a chair, leaning forward with 
clasped hands, the eyes eagerly and intently fixed. That is, one 
would paint with the assurance that the speaker would be seeing 
Italy 'in the mind's eye,' picturing the journey, and — more than 
that — actually starting to go, i.e., actually beginning the neces- 
sary movements. Here, too, we have imagined movement, cen- 
tral sensations of strain and pressure, mixed with actual sensations 
from muscle and tendon and joint. The forward inclination of 
the body and the eagerness of the eyes show that the ideas of the 
moment are pleasant. Once more : let the reader introspect 
when next he says : " If I only could remember that name ! " 
He will find that his whole body has been braced, during the 
attempt to remember ; that he has been frowning or wrinkling the 
forehead ; that his eyes have wandered all round the room ; per- 
haps, that he has from time to time held his breath and closed his 
eyes, to avoid any disturbance from outside. Along with all this 
has gone the unpleasant affection which comes with the feeling 
that he is baffled. 

In every instance, then, we find in effort an affective quality 
and a complex of organic sensations, — largely, sensations of ten- 
dinous strain. 

But, further, introspective analysis stops short at the 
discovery of these ingredients of effort. When we have 
taken the sensations and affection from the complex 
experience, there is nothing left : these are the only pro- 



124 Conation and Attention 

cesses which introspection can find in it. And if we test 
analysis by synthesis, and try to reconstruct effort from 
organic sensations and affection, we are led to the same 
result ; these components are enough to give us the 
effort experience. Hence we have no alternative but to 
conclude that effort furnishes no evidence of a third 
conscious element, the supposed elementary process of 
activity. 

It cannot be too strongly urged that our introspection must be 
absolutely impartial, and extremely careful. Since the supposed 
activity-process is, by hypothesis, neither sensation nor affection, 
and since the rules which we possess for the use of introspection 
apply only to the examination of those two processes, we must 
employ the method in both of its possible forms : it may be that 
the activity-process would more nearly resemble sensation, or it 
may be that it would be more like an affection. When we inves- 
tigate effort as if it were sensation (§ 9), we come upon the com- 
plex of organic sensations referred to in the text ; when we 
investigate it as if it were affection (§ -7)^)^ we come upon the 
affective quality which accompanies those sensations. Introspec- 
tion gives no hint of any further process. 

Introspection must decide the matter : it is the final court of 
appeal. But it is reassuring to find that the result of introspec- 
tion is supported by outside evidence. This is of two kinds. 
(i) Those who beheve in the existence of a specific activity-pro- 
cess often allude to it as a ' sensation of effort ' or ' feehng of 
activity.' The expressions show that, even in their opinion, the 
experience of effort is a process which resembles the processes of 
sensation and affection. Why should it not be made up of these 
processes? (2) Intense effort is unpleasant, moderate effort 
pleasant, and minimal effort indifferent. This is just what we 
should expect if effort were composed of sensations : intense 
strain-sensations arise from excessive stimulation, and that is 
unpleasant ; moderately strong sensations from moderate stimula- 
tion, which is exhilarating and pleasant, etc. (§ 34). Here is 



§ 38. The Nature and Forms of Atte7ition 125 

evidence, from the general behaviour of sensations and affection, 
that effort is made up of those two processes. 

§ 38. The Nature and Forms of Attention. — Effort is, 
however, not the only fact of mental experience which 
has been brought forward in support of the view that we 
have a specific conscious process corresponding to mental 
activity and spontaneity. This specific activity-process, 
which we have failed to discover in conation, is said to be 
present in attention, to be a constituent of the attentive 
consciousness. And at first sight the statement seems 
to be well founded. If ever we act spontaneously, it is 
surely when we lay down a novel to turn our attention 
to work; if ever we select for ourselves, it is when we 
ignore the whole crowd of impressions which our sense- 
organs are receiving, to attend to some one idea. In both 
these cases the activity-process must be present, if it exist 
at all. We must therefore examine attention, if possible, 
even more carefully than we have examined conation. 
If we cannot discover the activity experience here, we 
shall not discover it anywhere : attention is the only 
remaining fact to which the champions of activity can 
appeal, and it is a fact which, on the face of it, appears to 
furnish a strong confirmation of their view. 

We have more than once had occasion to remark that the idea 
to which we attend is made clearer, and lasts longer than other 
ideas. It is difficult to imagine how life could go on, if there 
were no such thing as attention. We should be at the mercy 
of every stimulus, internal or external, which was strong enough 
to arouse a conscious process ; sustained thought and continued 
occupation would be impossible ; consciousness would be a mixed 
medley of sensations and affections, strung together as the acci- 
dents of stimulation determined. The reality is very different. 



126 Conation and Attention 

As I lean back in my chair to think out a psychological problem, 
I am subject to all sorts of sensory stimuli : the temperature of 
the room, the pressure of my clothes, the sight of various pieces 
of furniture, sounds from house and street, scents coming from 
carpet and wood- work, or borne in through the open window, etc. 
I could easily lapse into a reminiscent mood, letting these impres- 
sions suggest to me scenes from my past life. I could easily give 
the rein to my imagination, thinking of the further business of the 
day, anticipating some event which is to happen in the near future, 
etc. But I am perfectly well able to neglect all these distractions, 
and to devote mysfelf entirely to the one centrally aroused idea, — 
the idea of the problem which awaits solution. 

Attention has two forms. It may be what is called 
* passive ' or ' involuntary ' attention, or it may be ' active ' 
and ' voluntary ' attention. We cannot understand its real 
nature until we understand how these two forms differ, 
and what are the reasons for their occurrence. 

(i) Passive Attention. — There are , many occasions 
when we ' cannot help ' attending to an impression, — 
when a stimulus takes the attention by storm. A very^ 
loud sound will, almost infallibly, attract the attention, ' 
however absorbing the occupation of the time. So with 
movement : the animal or bird that crosses the landscape, 
the melody that rises and falls to a steady, uniform accom- 
paniment {i.e.^ that moves, while its accompaniment is 
stationary), the insect that crawls over our hand as we lie 
upon the grass, — all these constrain us to attend to them. 
Interesting things catch the attention, whether their 
interest come from their pleasantness or unpleasant- 
ness : a beautiful face arrests, our eyes, as a matter of 
course, and the newspaper accounts of fires and murders 
have a ' morbid fascination ' for us. Things which fit in 
with our present train of thought hold the attention : if 



§ 38- TJie Nature and Forms of Attention 127 

we are feeling ourselves ill used, we notice a thousand 
little annoyances that we should otherwise have let pass 
unnoticed, — if we are trying to prove a scientific theory, 
facts offer themselves to our attention whose significance 
we should otherwise have missed. Contrast, like move- 
ment, draws the attention: the one tree on a level plain, 
the one civilian's dress among a mass of military uniforms. 
So with strange things in familiar settings, and familiar 
things in strange settings : a new picture upon our study 
wall obtrudes itself upon us, and a few words of English, 
heard amid a crowd of holiday-making Germans, force 
our attention irresistibly upon the speaker. 

Any one of these conditions — contrast or movement ; a 
high intensity, novel quality, etc., of sensation ; the ' in- 
terest ' attaching to an impression ; a close relation of 
the idea aroused by the impression to the ideas forming 
the consciousness of the moment — is able to give a defi- 
nite direction to the attention ; an object which fulfils any 
one of them has the power of attracting the attention to 
itself. The attention is passive : we have to attend, what- 
ever grounds we may have for attending to something 
else. 

(2) Active Attention. — There are, however, many occa- 
sions when, so far from the idea's drawing and riveting 
our attention, it seems that we are holding our attention 
by main force upon the idea. A problem in geometry 
does not appeal to us as a thunder-clap does. The 
thunder-clap takes unquestioned possession of conscious- 
ness. The problem has only a divided claim upon the 
attention : there is a constant temptation to wander away 
from it and attend to something else. Only gradually, as 
we grow interested and 'absorbed,' — as the active atten- 



128 Conation and Attention 

tion becomes passive, — does it gain that forcible hold 
over us which the thunder-clap has from the moment of 
its appearance in consciousness. In many of the psy- 
chological experiments which we have described, the 
object of attention is something which of itself, so far 
from attracting notice, would be eminently fitted to 
escape it : an obscure organic sensation, a minute quali- 
tative difference, etc. Attention to such an object is 
active attention. 

Let us see, now, how the psychologist who finds in 
attention the specific activity-process, the experience of 
mental spontaneity, regards these two forms of the atten- 
tive consciousness. " Both kinds of attention are alike," 
he will tell us, '* in the fact that they involve a change in 
our ideas. The idea attended to becomes the clearest, 
strongest and most permanent idea in consciousness. But 
the two kinds differ in this : that the change in ideas is 
brought about in the one case (passive attention) by the 
nature of the stimulus, while in the other case (active 
attention) it is the result of the mind's own activity, — 
the mind is moulding its ideas for its own purposes. 
There is clear evidence of the difference in the two ex- 
periences ; in passive attention we have the action of 
stimulus and the resulting change of ideas, — and noth- 
ing more; in active attention the mind's activity shows it- 
self in a definite mental process, an active process, which 
accompanies the change of ideas. Every one who has 
ever been actively attentive must be aware that he has 
experienced this definite process, of active quality." 

Here, then, are two facts for us to examine : the change 
of ideas, and the alleged activity-process. We will take 
the latter first. 



§ 38. TJie Nature and Forms of Atte7ttio7i 129 

(i) TJie Alleged Experience of Activity^ in Active Atten- 
tion. — If we try to ascertain, by the aid of introspection, 
the processes of which the attentive consciousness is com- 
posed, we come at once upon a mass of organic sensa- 
tions combined with affection into a total which very 
nearly resembles the conation of the previous section. 
There is a brace of the whole body ; the muscles are 
tense, ready for movement. More especially is there 
muscular tension in and about the head. If the object 
of attention is visual, the eyes are fixed steadily upon it, 
the eyebrows lowered, the scalp muscles tightened, the 
head settled squarely back upon the shoulders. If its 
object is auditory, the head is turned toward one side 
and thrust forward, the muscles which move the drum of 
the ear drawn taut, etc. In both instances the breath 
will be held, from time to time. All this means a complex 
of sensations from skin, muscle, sinew and joint, and an 
accompanying affection. It means an experience of 
effort ; and the only difference between this effort and 
the effort of the last Section is that this is, as a gen- 
eral rule, a more localised effort, whose components are 
not spread over the whole body in equal degree, but are 
centred round some particular sense-organ, eye or ear, etc. 
It is an effort which involves, not so much an adjustment 
of the whole muscular system, for locomotion, as an adjust- 
ment of a special organ for the best reception of stimulus. 
But it is none the less a form of conation, and may rightly 
be termed effort. 

And, again, introspection stops short at this point. 
When we have taken the sensations and affections from 
the * activity experience,' there is nothing left. There is 
no evidence of the third conscious process, however 

K 



130 Conation and Attention 

often we may analyse and reconstruct in our search 
for it. 

More than this : introspection does not show any radical 
difference between active and passive attention. In pas- 
sive attention, too, we find muscular adjustment ; the turn 
of the head, the brace of the body, the fixing of the gaze, 
etc. True, the effort is not so great as it is in active 
attention ; but effort is undoubtedly present. It is less, 
because there is only one idea to be attended to, whereas 
in active attention several ideas are claimants for the 
attention. 

To sum up : There is only one attention, not two. The differ- 
ences between passive and active attention are differences of 
* degree' {iiutnbe}' of ideas, amount of effort), not of ' kind.' The 
terms * passive ' and ' active ' are misnomers. In passive attention, 
one idea takes unresisted possession of consciousness ; in active 
attention, there is a conflict of ideas for the favours of the atten- 
tion. In the latter case, the experience of effort is pronounced 
and well marked ; in the former it is present, but less strong. 
These are the only differences between the two forms of attention. 

(i) Passive Attention. — The reasons why certain things or 
attributes of things compel the attention, while others are left un- 
noticed, are, in the last resort, biological reasons. Some of them 
are of a general nature, applying to all living organisms alike. The 
animal which is to survive ifttcst attend to movement, contrast, 
very intensive impressions, etc. Hence we all attend to these ; 
attention to them is ingrained in our nervous constitution. It is a 
more special reason, of course, which accounts for the entomolo- 
gist's attention to the beetle. Here we have a particular animal 
with particular tendencies ; tendencies in the first place natural, 
and now confirmed by education and habit. 

(2) Active Attention. — ^The reasons for the phenomena of 
active attention are also, in the last resort, biological. As soon as 
an organism comes to have a system of sense-organs, each with its 



§ 38- The Nature and Forms of Attention 131 

peculiar attachment to the central nervous system, there must 
necessarily be times when its attention is called simultaneously by 
two different stimuli, — say, by a visual movement in front of it, 
and by a loud sound at its side. On the occurrence of this two- 
fold stimulation, the attention will travel in quick succession from 
source of movement to source of sound, and vice versa. (Whether 
it go first to the one or the other will depend upon circumstances, 
— upon the organism's previous experience, upon the intensity of 
the affection attaching to the two stimuh, etc.) The effort must 
plainly be greater than in the case of attention to either stimulus 
alone ; there is more bodily movement, adjustment of organs, etc., 
required. 

The more complex the organism becomes, the more frequently 
must it happen that stimuh are simultaneously presented, which 
cannot be attended to in this see-saw way, though both have 
strong claims upon the attention. Suppose, e.g., that I am sitting 
in my room, preparing for to-morrow's examination, and that I 
hear an alarm of fire in a neighbouring street. I cannot run from 
work to window, and from window to work, in quick succession ; 
if the work is to be done, the attention to it must be sustained. 
In a case like this, one claimant must give way to the other ; there 
is a real conflict. The cortex is * set ' in one part for work ; and 
this setting is reinforced by a large number of excitations, — the 
processes corresponding to ideas of my examination mark, the con- 
sequences of failure, etc. The cortex is ' set ' in another part for 
looking at the fire ; and this setting is reinforced by other excita- 
tions, — the processes corresponding to the ideas of a run in the 
fresh air, an exciting scene, the meeting with friends, etc. Which 
side wins depends upon the strength of the tendencies and of their 
temporary auxiliaries. Again, the effort experience must plainly 
be more distinct than in the case of attention to either stimulus 
alone. 

Additional ground for thinking that there is no radical differ- 
ence between passive and active attention is to be found in the 
fact that what begins as active attention may quite well end as 
passive. If we once ' settle down ' to our work, we may grow 
so ' sunk ' and ' absorbed ' in it that the fire-bell passes unnoticed. 



132 Conation and Attention 

This fact can hardly be explained by those who assume the pres- 
ence of the activity-process in active attention ; for why should 
that process disappear, as attention is continued ? 

It may be remarked here that the reduction of active to passive 
attention is the condition of all thorough intellectual work. The 
passive attention of the animal or the child is the first stage of 
attentional development. Then comes the active attention, dur- 
ing which the mind is held by a certain stimulus, but held in face 
of opposition from other stimuli. Finally, this stimulus gains an 
unquestioned ascendency over its rivals, and the attention is once 
more passive. The stage of active attention is itself a stage of 
transition, of conflict, of waste of mental energy ; but it is the 
necessary preliminary to a stage of achievement. 

(2) TJie Change of Ideas in Attention. — Whenever we 
attend to an idea, certain changes are brought about in 
that idea and in the other ideas of the time, {a) The 
idea attended to becomes clearer and more distinct. If I 
am listening to a four-part choriis, and suddenly give my 
full attention to the tenors, the tenor part stands out dis- 
tinctly from the whole mass of sound. It does not become 
stronger, louder ; but its tone qualities are detached from 
the tone qualities of the other parts. (^) Sometimes, how- 
ever, the idea attended to does increase in intensity. A 
very faint light grows noticeably brighter, as we attend to 
it ; a very faint sound, noticeably louder, {c) The other 
ideas of which consciousness is composed are rendered 
less distinct and, apparently, weaker than they previously 
were. As we listen to the tenor part, the three other 
parts blur, and fade out. 

The activity-theory explained these three facts as the effects of 
mental activity ; the mind, of its own accord, assisted some ideas 
and repressed others. We have been unable to find an activity- 
process, and have accounted for the manifestations of attention in 



§ 3 8. TJie NaUire and Forms of Attention 133 

general by emphasising the natural Selectiveness ' (§ 35) of the 
nervous system, the presence of organic tendencies. We have 
now to ask for the special physiological conditions of these three 
manifestations of attention. They appear both in passive and 
active attention. 

Physiologists have discovered that one nerve-cell can influence 
another in two different ways. It can inhibit or check the pro- 
cesses going on in the other, or it can facilitate or reinforce them. 
We do not know precisely how these influences are exerted ; but 
there can be no question that they exist. During attention, both 
of them appear to be at work. There is facilitation or reinforce- 
ment of cerebral function on the one hand (the idea attended to 
becomes clearer or stronger); there is widespread inhibition of 
cerebral function on the other hand (the remaining ideas grow 
dim and weak). 

It is natural to look for the origin of the reinforcing and inhib- 
itory processes in the frontal lobes, the supreme co-ordinating 
centre of the brain. However they arise, we should suppose that 
they arise there. Now we have seen that an excitation of the 
frontal lobes is the necessary condition of the affective processes. 
Our supposition will, then, be greatly strengthened, if we can find 
any close relation between affection and attention as facts of men- 
tal experience. 

We find, as a matter of fact, that it is only when we attend to im- 
pressions that we feel them to be pleasant or unpleasant. Impres- 
sions which are not attended to are indifferent. If we can ' forget ' 
our toothache, z>., find something more interesting and absorbing, 
and so cease to attend to the tooth, the unpleasantness vanishes. 
Impressions which have grown habitual, /.<?., whose affective at- 
tribute has worn off, are impressions which have ceased to attract 
the attention. Hence, when we say that an ' interesting ' thing 
catches the attention, we are really speaking tautologically. A 
thing is 'interesting' when it is ' a thing to be attended to.' It is 
not that the pleasantness or unpleasantness comes first, and that 
we then attend to the impression : the two parts of our experi- 
ence, the affective and the attentive, are simultaneous. In popular 
parlance, we attend because the thing is interesting ; in psycho- 



134 Conation and Attention 

logical language, the interest and the attention are two sides of 
the same experience. 

Putting the physiological and psychological together, we may 
say that attention to a pleasant theme corresponds to an exercise 
of function by well-nourished frontal lobes (§ 32), and attention to 
an unpleasant theme, to the exercise of function by ill-nourished 
frontal lobes. Since attention is always attention to something, 
there must also be an excitation set up in some sensory cortical 
centre (visual, auditory, etc.) ; and in the same way, any pleas- 
antness or unpleasantness implies the excitation of the cortical 
centre, to which the pleasant or unpleasant idea belongs. And 
just as it is one effect of the adjustment or adaptation of the 
nervous system that its surroundings are indifferent, and the nour- 
ishment of the frontal lobes unaffected by them, so it is another 
result of adaptation that the organism gradually ceases to attend 
to frequently repeated impressions, and that the frontal lobes are 
not called upon to perform their functions, — the lower brain 
centres meeting all the requirements of the occasion. Lastly, we 
now see the special reason for the impossibility of attending to an 
affection. Attention and affection are two sides of one and the 
same process. 

The results of this Section may be summarised as fol- 
lows. Attention to an impression means three things. It 
means (i) that consciousness is conative, i.e,^ made up in 
large part of the complex experience of effort ; (2) that a 
particular idea or perception, or small group of ideas or 
perceptions, becomes clearer, more lasting and (perhaps) 
stronger than it v^as before ; and (3) that the remaining 
processes which go to make up the consciousness of the 
moment become fainter, more transient and less distinct 
than they otherwise would be. On the physiological side 
we have: (i) a tension or set of the muscles, extending 
more or less widely over the whole body, but especially 
well marked in some particular organ {cf. the attitude of 



§ 39- ^^^"^ Attributes of Attention 135 

the eavesdropper, or the set of the eyes, wrinkling of 
the forehead, etc., in attentive thinking); (2) central rein- 
forcement or facilitation of particular excitations ; and 
(3) central inhibition of other excitatory processes. 

There is no trace in attention of a third elementary 
conscious process, co-ordinate with sensation and affection, 

§ 39. The Attributes of Attention. — It is evident that we 
cannot speak of ' attributes ' of attention in precisely the 
same sense in which we have spoken of the attributes of 
sensation and affection. Attention is not a simple, 
elemental process : it is a complex of elementary pro- 
cesses (the sensations and affection which make up the 
experience of effort) accompanied by changes (changes 
of intensity, distinctness, duration, etc.) in other mental 
processes. Nevertheless we can look at attention, as we 
can at sensation, from different points of view. It will 
be well, therefore, to ask whether the differences which it 
presents in any way resemble the differences of quality, 
intensity, etc., which exist between sensations and affec- 
tions. 

(i) To speak of the quality of attention would be mean- 
ingless. The qualities present in attention are {a) the 
sensation qualities contained in the experience of effort, 
qualities of strain, etc., — whether peripheral (coming 
from actual bodily adjustment) or central (coming from 
remembrance or imagination of bodily adjustment); {U) an 
affective quality, pleasantness or unpleasantness ; and {c) 
the quality (or qualities) of the sensation (or perception or 
idea) attended to. Although the quality of strain is always 
present, it need not be the predominant quality in atten- 
tion : the predominant quality may be that of the sensation 
or idea attended to. And as any sensation or idea may be 



136 Conation and Attention 

attended to, there cannot be any specific or characteristic 
'attention quality.' 

(2) We might attribute intensity to attention, meaning 
by it the effectiveness with which the object of attention 
(the idea attended to) is reinforced, and the remaining 
conscious processes inhibited, in a given case. That dif- 
ferences of this kind exist is obvious. We may be com- 
pletely absorbed in a subject (very high degree of rein- 
forcement, with very effective inhibition), fairly attentive 
(high degree of reinforcement, less effective inhibition), 
little attentive (little reinforcement, weak inhibition), or 
entirely inattentive (no reinforcement and no inhibition). 
But as intensity is here used in a new sense, to mean the 
intensity of a total complex process, and not of one of its 
simple components, it will be better to avoid the term, 
and to speak rather of the degree of attention. 

(3) Attention cannot be maintained for an indefinite 
length of time; it 'tires' or 'relaxes.' Moreover, it 
varies greatly in duration^ shifting from object to object 
at irregular intervals, altogether irrespectively of fatigue. 
We may attend to a lecture, without tiring, for a whole 
hour ; but we may also attend for a few seconds only. 
We must enquire, then, for how long a time the rein- 
forcing and inhibitory processes can co-operate, without 
relaxation, i.e.^ what is the maximal duration of atten- 
tion to one object; and try to ascertain the reasons for 
relaxation, when it appears. 

(4) Attention has no extent^ in the sense in which visual 
and tactual (cutaneous and articular) sensations have ex- 
tent. But it has a different range in different cases : we 
may attend to a single sensation of red, or to a water- 
colour drawing which shows all the colours of the spec- 



§ 40. TJie Degree of Attention 137 

trum. The question of the maxmial range of attention 
thus arises : the question, i.e., to how many impressions 
we can attend, without slurring over any one of them. 

We previously noticed the fact that it is possible to speak of 
the intensity, duration, etc., of complex as well as of simple con- 
scious processes (§ 8). Attention offers an instance of this 
usage. 

§ 40. The Degree of Attention. — We can say nothing 
very definitely of the different degrees of attention. Lan- 
guage makes certain rough distinctions : ' close ' or ' rapt ' 
or ' absorbed ' attention is opposed to ' wandering ' or ' fit- 
ful ' attention or to inattention, ' complete ' attention to 
' divided ' attention, etc. But these phrases give us no 
better idea of the number of possible attention degrees 
than do the expressions 'light grey,' 'grey,' 'dark grey,' 
of the number of distinguishable qualities of brightness 
sensation. 

Since attention always includes the effort experience, it 
might be thought that the intensity of effort would furnish 
a measure of the degree of attention. But a little con- 
sideration shows that intensity of effort and degree of 
attention do not run parallel to each other. We very 
easily become absorbed in our favourite topic (high degree 
of attention, containing but slight effort) ; while a small 
amount of attention bestowed upon an uninteresting sub- 
ject renders the effort-complex exceedingly prominent in 
consciousness. 

The reason is, that effort is only a part, not the whole, 
of attention. It does not follow that because effort is 
strong or weak the whole process of attention must be 
strong or weak. The experience of effort is one side of 



1 33 Conation and Attention 

attention ; the changes in the idea attended to, by rein- 
forcement, and in other ideas, by inhibition, are the other 
side. If the processes of reinforcement and inhibition are 
materially aided by tendency, by the ' set ' of the cortex, 
we may get great attention (total conscious process) with 
but little effort (part-process) ; if they are not, we may 
have a considerable effort and yet but scant attention. 

Thus we may listen to a tedious speaker — because it is 'good 
manners ' to listen — while our attention is more than half taken 
up with our own thoughts. Here the amount of effort (part- 
process) experienced is by no means proportional to the amount 
of attention (total process) given. A certain acquired tendency 
is reinforcing the excitations which correspond to the ideas of 
social propriety, respect for age, etc., while natural tendencies are 
reinforcing other excitations which correspond to the subject of 
our thoughts. There is a conflict (§ t^^^^ and the former wins ; 
but wins by a narrow margin. Hence a high degree of effort 
occurs in conjunction with slight reinforcement of the speaker's 
words and slight inhibition of the listener's thoughts : a weak 
attention includes a strong effort. 

On the other hand, the * born ' naturalist follows the line of 
least resistance when he stops his conversation to watch the ma- 
noeuvres of a spider on the window-pane. A natural tendency has 
* prepared ' the cortex for the reinforcement of the excitations 
corresponding to the perception of the spider, and the inhibition 
of other excitations. Here, there is a strong attention, including 
but a slight effort. 

The term ' inattention ' is used in two senses. Strictly 
defined, it is the lowest degree of attention. In this signifi- 
cance, it is the obverse of extreme attention : absorption 
in one topic means inattention to all others. In its second- 
ary sens^, inattention is used to denote a fact of mental 
constitution as a whole, and indicates a low stage of men- 
tal development. 



§ 40- ^■^^^ Degree of Attention 139 

(i) Those who are capable of sustained attention, and whose 
occupations giv^e constant exercise to this capacity, are rarely 
inattentive (to one thing) unless they are closely attentive (to 
another). We have the extreme form of inattention (and of 
attention) in absent-mindedness or ' brown study.' Here the 
attention is so exclusively concentrated upon a congenial topic 
that all impressions which are not connected with it pass unat- 
tended to. 

(2) Animals are 'constitutionally' inattentive, in the second 
sense of the word. Although the organism is ' selective ' (§35), 
i.e., has definite tendencies, there is no conscious co-ordination of 
these tendencies for a scheme or plan of life. In the most highly 
developed mind, on the other hand, — the mind of civihsed man, 
— the natural tendencies are pressed, during education, into the 
service of some life-plan. We may express the difference meta- 
phorically by saying that in ourselves the tendencies are focussed 
upon some definite object, or that the attention is trained in some 
one direction ; whereas, in the animal, tendencies subsist side by 
side, and are focussed or converged upon a particular object only 
at the instigation of sheer necessity, and only for so long as the 
n.ecessity lasts. Or again : we have a conscious end (ambition, 
ideal, etc.) before us ; the animal has none. 

There are, however, many members of civihsed communities 
who are thus 'constitutionally inattentive,' i.e., who are incapable 
of sustained attention, whose attention is caught by anything and 
everything, and relaxed as lightly as it is caught. We term them 
' scatter-brained,' ' unreliable,' ' forgetful,' ' capricious,' ' uncertain,' 
' changeable,' etc., according to the circumstances in which their 
constitutional lack of attention is manifested. The mental type is 
illustrated more often in children than in adults, — indeed, it is 
natural to children at a certain stage of mental development, — 
and more often in women than in men. 

Mental pathology gives us an extreme instance of this constitu- 
tional inattention in the dream consciousness, and an instance of 
exclusive concentration in the hypnotic consciousness. Unfortu- 
nately, both dreaming and hypnosis present conditions which are 
unfavourable to introspection. 



140 Conation and Attention 

§ 41. The Duration of Attention. — We can attend to the 
same topic for a considerable length of time. Music lovers 
will sit out a five hours' opera without letting their atten- 
tion wander from the music; and there are many things 
— an interesting public ceremony, a baffling mechanical 
puzzle, the last work of a popular author, a newly invented 
machine — which will hold the attention for a long time. 
Hence we might be tempted to suppose that attention is 
a relatively permanent state of consciousness. 

But if we look closely at experiences of the kind, we 
see that the object of attention is, in reality, constantly 
changing. The musical themes vary, the ceremony pro- 
ceeds, the puzzle is tried now in one way and now in 
another, the plot of the story develops, the machine 
becomes intelligible part by part. Attention, in each 
instance, is attention not to a single impression, but to 
a series of different impressions. Consequently, the ex- 
periences tell us nothing of the duration of * an ' attention, 
if the phrase be permissible, — of a single attentive con- 
sciousness. 

The question can be answered only by an appeal to ex- 
periment. For it is only under experimental conditions 
that we can keep the object of attention absolutely simple, 
and so far rule out disturbing influences. Many experi- 
ments have been made, and all have led to the same 
result : that attention is not persistent, but intermittent, — 
rising and falling, waxing and waning, at quite short 
intervals. If we attend as closely as we can to a simple 
sense-impression, its quality is not made permanently 
clearer and more distinct; it becomes alternately clear 
and blurred, distinct and indistinct. The attention fluctu- 
ates. 



§ 41- T^^^ Duration of Attention 141 

The fluctuations of attention are usually irregular. The 
time of a single ' pulse ' of the attention — from distinct- 
ness to distinctness, or from indistinctness to indistinctness 
of the impression — has been found to vary, in the case of 
weak stimuli, between the limits of 6 and 24 sec. 

Method. — It is best to work with the weakest possible, i.e., 
with just noticeable stimuli. For if any blurring or indistinctness 
occurs in a sensation which, at its best, is only just noticeable, it 
is plain that the sensation will disappear altogether. Waxing and 
waning of the attention will then mean appearance and disappear- 
ance of the sensation ; and it is far easier to say that we do or do 
not see or hear something than to say that what we see or hear 
has grown more or less clear or distinct. 

Paint a very light grey circle upon a square of white cardboard, 
and place the card so far from the eye that the grey is only just 
distinguishable, only just noticeably different from the white. 
Look steadily at the circle. It will be visible for a few moments ; 
then the white of the card will seem to wash over it ; then it will 
appear again ; then disappear, and so on. Let an assistant hold a 
stop-watch. Each time that the grey becomes clear, tap the table 
with a pencil : the assistant will note and record the intervals 
between tap and tap. When you have accustomed yourself to the 
experiment, you may tap the table not only when the grey ap- 
pears, but also when it disappears, and compare the length of 
time during which attention is sustained with the length of time 
during which it is relaxed. The former time will probably be the 
longer. 

The experiment may be repeated with a faint noise as stimulus 
— say, the tick of a watch removed so far from the ear that its 
sound is only just audible. In this case you must signal to the 
assistant by some different means, as the tap on the table would 
interfere with your attention to the watch. You might, e.g., have 
a string attached to your forefinger and to his wrist, and pull upon 
it when the ticking appeared and disappeared. 

Since you are working with minimal stimuh, you must be care- 



142 Conation and Atteiition 

ful to have the sense-organ exactly adjusted to the impression. A 
chance movement of the eye or a sHght turn of the head would 
cause the grey circle or the watch-tick to disappear, quite in- 
dependently of the attention. The duration of the attention can 
be inferred only from the behaviour of the sensation under abso- 
lutely constant bodily conditions. 

It is to be noted that attention to centrally aroused sensations 

— e.g., an imagined watch-tick — is subject to the same fluctua- 
tions as attention to external stimuH. 

The explanation of the intermittence of attention is to 
be sought in the nature of the physiological processes (pro- 
cesses of cortical reinforcement and inhibition) which cor- 
respond to it. When a nerve-cell acts upon another nerve- 
cell, it does this not gradually or continuously, as if in- 
fluence ' flowed ' from it, but suddenly and at once, as 
if the influence were 'discharged.' Indeed, physiologists 
speak always of the * discharge ' or ' explosion ' of a nerve- 
cell, when they refer to its exercise of function. We 
must imagine, therefore, that when the frontal lobes re- 
inforce or inhibit an excitation, they act by jerks : there 
is a jet or spurt of energy from them, — then a brief 
pause, during which they recuperate, lay up more energy, 

— then another jet, and so on. In the pauses between jet 
and jet, the cortex is at the mercy of other impressions 
than that which is the special object of attention : there 
is a relaxation of the attention, and the ideas correspond- 
ing to these other impressions take the place of the idea 
attended to. 

* But whence do these impressions come 1 We are 
working under experimental conditions, and have ruled 
disturbances out.' We have ruled out disturbances, so far 
as we can. But we cannot rule out the rustling of our 



§ 41- 1^^^^ Duration of Attention 143 

clothes which comes with the rise and fall of the chest in 
breathing, the noise of heart-beat, the pressure from the 
twitching of a muscle, the tickling of a hair, the tingling 
of the skin, etc. Still less can we rule out disturbing 
central excitations. Memories and imaginings of all sorts 
start up, — the counterparts of some chance excitation in a 
cortical centre, — and the attention is diverted from the 
given impression before we know that there is anything 
present to divert it. 

The great importance of these distracting impressions is vouched 
for by introspection. Attend to the grey circle or watch-tick as 
before ; but interrupt the experiment, as soon as the impression 
has disappeared, to ask yourself introspectively the reason for its 
disappearance. It may have vanished because your eye ' sHpped,' 
or your collar creaked. In that case try again. You will find 
that the impression disappears, however favourable the conditions 
for seeing or hearing ; and that it disappears when the attention 
has been distracted by the ^ cropping up ' of some irrelevant idea. 

Introspection cannot, however, show why it is that the irrele- 
vant ideas are allowed to crop up. The reason for that lies in 
the nature of the physiological processes which constitute the 
condition of attention. 

It is natural to suppose that, if we could secure really constant 
conditions of experimentation, internal and external, we should 
find the fluctuation of attention to be regular. Under such 
conditions, discharge and reloading of frontal lobe cells should 
succeed each other with perfect regularity. The conditions are, 
unfortunately, almost impossible of realisation, — impossible, un- 
less a happy chance assist our efforts to regulate circumstances. 
It has been found, however, in experiments made with all con- 
ceivable caution, that the fluctuations may be regular ; in these 
experiments, the time occupied by a single pulse of the attention 
was 3.5 sec.^ 

1 It may seem strange that while the average pulse of the attention lasts 
from 6 to 24 sec, pulses so short as 3.5 sec. should be obtained under the most 



144 Conation arid Attention 

This result agrees with a fact of general psychological experi- 
ence : that the signal for any experiment is best given to the 
observer some 1.5 to 2 sec. before the experiment is made. The 
interval allows the attention to come to its full strain, but ends 
before relaxation has begun. It is surely significant that it is just 
half of the fluctuation-time mentioned above. 

§ 42. The Range of Attention. — Our problem is to 
determine how many impressions can be attended to 
together, without diminution of the clearness, intensity, 
etc., to which each one of them would attain if the atten- 
tion were directed to it singly. It is a common saying 
that ' nobody can attend to two things at once ' ; but 
experiment shows that the truth of the statement de- 
pends upon what the ' things ' are, whether complex or 
simple impressions ; and, if they are complex, upon the 
degree of their complexity. 

We can approach the problem in two ways, — by a si- 
multaneous and a successive method. We may present a 
number of stimuli to a sense-organ at the same time, 
gradually adding to them, until it becomes impossible to 
attend to all at once. This procedure is the best for 
visual and cutaneous stimuli (lines, letters, circles, bands 
of colour, etc., laid upon the same background ; or simul- 
taneous pressures at different parts of the body). Oi: we 
may give the stimuli in succession, gradually increasing 
their number till the point is reached at which the first 
disappears from consciousness as the last is given. This 

favourable circumstances. It is probable that the pulse is of different duration 
in the case of different individuals. It may be, however, that the results which 
give 6 to 24 sec. are not wholly trustworthy; that the stimulus was not mini- 
mal throughout the experiments, and that accordingly one or more blurrings 
or fadings of the impression were overlooked by the observers. New investi- 
gations must be made, before the question can be finally settled. 



§ 42. The Range of Attention 145 

method answers best with auditory stimuli {e.g., beats of a 
metronome). In both cases the object of enquiry is the 
same : we wish to determine the limit of complexity at 
which the attention becomes unable to cope with the 
stimuli offered to a given sense-organ. 

It has been found by the former method that four or 
five simple visual stimuli can be presented together, with- 
out distraction of the attention from any one, i.e., without 
diminution of its clearness, intensity, etc. ; while the sec- 
ond method leads to the conclusion that a series of eight 
auditory impressions can just be grasped by the atten- 
tion. 

Method : ( i ) Simultaneous stimuli. — Prepare a series of white 
cards, upon which are printed letters, lines, etc., in gradually in- 
creasing numbers. One of the cards must be set up, in each 
experiment, at a convenient distance from the eye of the ob- 
server. In front of it is an apparatus resembling the instantaneous 
shutter of a photographic camera. When this apparatus is set in 
action, the card becomes visible for a fraction of a second. The 
time of exposure must be very short, since otherwise the eye may 
sweep rapidly over the impressions, leaving some to be remem- 
bered while the others are directly attended to : in this case they 
would not be apprehended by ' an ' attention, but by a series of 
attentions. The card, too, must be so small as to be easily * taken 
in ' by the eye at a glance, without eye-movement. Otherwise we 
may be measuring not the extent of the ' field ' of attention, but 
that of the field of vision. Thus, if the field of vision were filled 
out with broad bands of colour, we might reach its hmits before 
we had reached the limits of the grasp of the attention ; three 
bands, of red, green and blue, might fill the visual field, while the 
attention, as we have said, is able to grasp four or five simultane- 
ously presented simple visual impressions, — colours, letters, lines, 
etc. 

If letters are employed as stimuli, they must form a meaning- 

L 



146 Conation and Attention 

less series, such as RKZT. It has been found that a familiar 
word of four letters can be apprehended by the attention as if 
it were a single letter ; it is attended to, not as a series of letters, 
but as one total impression (Ch. VII). For the same reason, 
the attention can deal better with figures than with disconnected 
letters. Any combination of figures ' makes sense,' represents a 
definite number : 4321 means something, just as much as 1234. 

(2) Successive Stimuli. — The running weight upon the tongue 
of a metronome is so placed that the interval between beat and 
beat is about a quarter of a second. The experimenter marks off 
groups of beats by sounding a bell simultaneously with the first 
beat of each group. Two series are given in each experiment : 

thus, >- — beat — beat — beat ; > — beat — beat — beat ; 

beat ) beat ) 

and the observer is required to say whether the two groups are 
equal or unequal. He must not count, of course ; counting would 
mean that attention was given to each beat separately, and, there- 
fore, that the series was apprehended by successive attentions, and 
not by * an ' attention. Accurate judgment is impossible in the 
case of series which consist of more than eight impressions. 

But just as in the previous experiments a word of four letters 
was equivalent, for the attention, to a single letter, so here a group 
of impressions may be equivalent, for the attention, to a single 
impression. We have already referred to the influence of rhythm 
in judgments passed upon the relations of auditory stimuli (§ 29). 
Now when we listen to our series of metronome beats, it is impos- 
sible to avoid throwing them into a more or less complex rhythm. 
If the 8 impressions which constitute an experimental series are 
single beats, they are apprehended not as 8 but as 4 {beat beat, 
beat beat. If eat beat, t?eat beat ; not beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, 
beat, beat, beat) ; so that, for the attention, they are 4 impres- 
sions. The limits of the grasp of attention lie between 8 impres- 
sions of 2 beats each (16 beats in all) and 5 impressions of 8 
beats each (40 in all) . The 8 beats in the latter case are broken 
up into 4 pairs, accented as trochees {cf. § 47). 

The range of affection we found to be coextensive with con- 
sciousness. It is evident that the same cannot be said of the 



§ 42. TJie Range of Attention 147 

range of attention. The reason for this apparent anomaly is to 
be looked for in the fact (§ 2)Z) ^^^^ ^^ affection attaching to a 
single idea or group of ideas radiates from this to the other ideas 
of which consciousness is composed, even if they are in them- 
selves indifferent. Attention does not radiate from the objects 
attended to. — Cf. what is said of the composition of the feeling, 
§56. 



PART II 

CHAPTER VII 

Perception and Idea 

§ 43. Sensation, Perception and Idea. — We have hitherto 
used the terms 'perception' and 'idea' indifferently, to sig- 
nify a complex of sensations ; and we have implied that 
such a complex process becomes, under certain conditions, 
a single item of mental experience, forms a coherent whole, 
— so that we can speak of its intensity, duration, etc., 
quite apart from the intensity or duration of the element- 
ary processes which enter into it. We must now ask how 
these complexes are formed ; which of the four attributes 
of sensation are of the greatest importance for their 
production ; and under what circumstances they acquire 
their unity or singleness for mental experience. 

There is no fundamental psychological difference between the 
perception and the idea. It is customary to speak of ' percep- 
tion ' when the majority of the simple processes in the complex 
are the result of stimulation of a sense-organ, i.e., are peripherally 
aroused, and of ' idea ' when the greater number are the result of 
an excitation within the brain cortex, i.e., are centrally aroused. 
If I have a table before me, and my eyes open, I am said to ' per- 
ceive ' the table ; if I close my eyes, and think of what I saw, to 
have an ' idea ' of the table. But we have seen that the sensations 
aroused centrally do not differ as psychological processes from 
those aroused peripherally (§ 7). Hence although we might be 
tempted for convenience' sake to follow^ the common usage, — 
to employ ' perception ' to denote what is now before us, and 

148 



§ 43- Sensation^ Perception and Idea 149 

'■ idea ' to denote what is remembered or imagined, — we should 
be obhged constantly to remind ourselves that, in principle, the 
two processes are one and the same. And the danger of forget- 
ting this would far outweigh the convenience of separating the 
terms. 

In what follows, therefore, as in what has preceded, we shall 
use the words indiscriminately. 

We classified sensations in the first place by reference 
to the sense-organs from v^hich they proceed, and second- 
arily by reference to the stimuli w^hich arouse them. We 
might now classify ideas in the same way, beginning with 
the great groups originated in a sense department (visual, 
auditory, olfactory, etc.), and subdividing these by the 
help of differences of stimulation within a department 
(ideas of colour, of brightness, of tone, of noise, etc.). 
But such a classification would be misleading. The sense- 
organs are, as a matter of fact, not separate instruments : 
they are instruments in the service of a single organism, 
and they are connected with one another, by way of the 
brain. So long as we are enquiring into the nature and 
number of the elementary conscious processes (§ 4), we 
may regard each group of sensations as separate and 
independent, and each member of a group as an individual 
process, possessed of its own attributes. But when we 
come to consider sensations as elements in ideas, we find, 
naturally enough, but little show of independence and 
individuality. The particular sensation, regarded apart 
from other sensations, is the product of scientific analysis, 
an abstraction from actual mental experience : the simplest 
item oj that experience is the idea. It was necessary for 
us, as psychologists, to see how the sense-organs would 
work if they were working separately. That donCj how- 



150 Perception and Idea 

ever, we must go on to enquire how they really do work 
together for the benefit of the organism. 

We never have, then, a perfectly simple mental experi- 
ence : consciousness is never composed of a single sensa- 
tion. Two points may be noticed, (i) On the one hand, 
several sensations, from different sense departments, may 
be combined into one idea. The contributions made by 
a particular sense department will, it is true, be predomi- 
nant in the idea; but the character of the whole process 
will nevertheless depend upon all the contributions sent in 
from the different departments concerned. My idea of 
lemonade is predominantly an idea of taste. But taste 
alone could not give me an idea of lemonade ; there must 
be added to the taste qualities, sweet and acid, a pressure, 
a scent, a colour, a movement of gas-bubbles, etc. My 
idea of an arm-chair is predominantly visual, a picture of 
the chair ; but it contains also the idea of softness, of the 
sitting position, etc., — elements of movement and press- 
ure. (2) On the other hand, not every sensation is called 
upon to assist, in equal measure, in the formation of every 
kind of idea. There is a division of labour. Thus visual 
sensations, which have the attribute of extent, are pre- 
eminently concerned in the formation of extensive (spatial) 
ideas ; auditory sensations, which have no spatial attribute, 
contribute nothing directly to our ideas of space. We 
' see ' how far off a thing is, in what direction it lies, how 
large it is, what form it has, etc. Auditory sensations, 
however, possess a well-marked duration ; they begin 
abruptly and cease abruptly with the beginning and cessa- 
tion of stimulus ; there is but little auditory after-image. 
This fact, in connection with the impossibility of their 
spatial arrangement, gives them an especial fitness to 



§ 43- Sensatioiiy Perception and Idea 151 

arouse temporal ideas, ideas of frequency, succession, 
rhythm, etc. In all such cases we have the elevation of 
one attribute of sensation at the expense of others ; in the 
cases quoted, quality, the core or * self ' of the sensation, 
becomes subordinate to extent or duration in the idea. 
In others, quality may be the predominant attribute. 

We shall classify ideas, for the purposes of the present 
chapter, as extensive, tejnporal and qualitative. And we 
may confine ourselves to the consideration of those ideas 
which are built up from sensations of pressure (cutane- 
ous, articular and muscular), of tone and of brightness. 
Pressure gives us all three classes of ideas in their earliest, 
most rudimentary form : the eye and the ear furnish the 
same ideas at their highest level of development. 

The two primitive sense qualities are, in all probability, those of 
pressure and pain (§ 21). Pain, from its very nature, has but a 
small part to play in the formation of ideas. Its appearance is 
an indication that some sense-organ is being damaged, and it 
is always unpleasant. Hence a consciousness composed of pain 
ideas could accompany only a pathological bodily state, — a state 
of localised injury and general nervous deterioration, a state in 
which catabolic processes had the upper hand in a particular 
organ and in the nervous system generally. If this bodily state 
and this consciousness were of frequent occurrence, the organ- 
ism's life would be short.^ 

Pressure, on the other hand, may be expected to form the 
foundation for all classes of ideas. It is a primitive sensation, 

1 It may be objected that invalids whose life is a continual pain often live 
to a good old age. But it must be remembered that they are cared for in a 
way which is unknown to the lower animals; that their pain is mitigated by 
medical treatment; and that they are capable of looking forward to recovery 
(§ 40), while the animal by its very constitution cannot anticipate the future. 
*' While there's life, there's hope " holds only of mankind, because mankind 
alone can form a conscious plan of life; while, on the other hand, the fact 
that hope is possible robs pain of a part of its destructiveness. 



152 Perception and Idea 

the first material out of which an idea can be shaped. It pos- 
sesses all four sensation attributes : quality, intensity, extent, and 
duration. And its quality is common to several great groups of 
sensory nerves, — nerves of skin, mucous membrane, muscle and 
joint. 

We find, accordingly, that tactual ideas — ideas built up from 
pressure sensations, cutaneous and organic — are of all three 
kinds : extensive, temporal and qualitative. Since it is endowed 
with the spatial attribute of extent, pressure can naturally serve 
as the basis of the various spatial ideas : ideas of size, direction, 
form, position, etc. Since it is the quality aroused by movement 
of a limb, by friction of the articular surfaces against each other, 
it can serve as the basis of temporal ideas : ideas of rhythm, of 
rapidity of movement, etc. And though it is not qualitatively 
variable, though, i.e., it remains the same 'pressure' whether it 
proceed from muscle or joint or skin, it blends with other quali- 
ties from other sense departments to form qualitative ideas : with 
organic sensations to form ideas of hardness, resistance, etc. 
(§ 16), with taste sensations to form ideas of astringency, pun- 
gency, etc. (§15). 

Vision and audition, the senses which are richest in sensation 
qualities, may also be expected to give rise to a great variety 
of ideas. These senses stand at the other extreme of the de- 
velopmental series from that occupied by pressure and pain ; 
they are the highest products of mental evolution in the sphere 
of sense. Visual and auditory ideas are cast in the same mould 
as tactual, formed in the same way and used for the same general 
purposes. But they are more ' finished ' and at the same time 
more comprehensive. Whenever a simultaneous appeal is made 
to the two groups, the final decision rests with vision and audition : 
we estimate size by look, and not by ' feel ' ; we take our rhythm 
in dancing from the music rather than from the sensation com- 
plexes set up by bodily movement. 

Having considered the ideas formed from the most simple and 
the most highly differentiated sense materials, we shall have no 
need to consider any others. No sensations, except those of eye 
and skin, have the spatial attribute of extent. No sensations, ex- 



§ 43- Sensation^ Perception and Idea 153 

cept those of hearing and pressure, possess a well-marked and 
clear-cut duration. No other sense, not even that of smell, is so 
rich in qualities as are vision and audition. Hence when we have 
discussed our three groups of ideas in these three departments, 
we shall have given an outline of the formation of ideas in 
general.^ 

'But what of intensive ideas?' it may be asked. ' If the attri- 
butes of quality, duration and extent form the nucleus round 
which certain ideas gather, why cannot intensity serve as the 
nucleus of certain other ideas ? ' The answer is to be found 
partly in the nature of the attributes themselves, partly in the 
adjustment of the organic functions to the needs of practical 
life. 

Quality, we have said, is the absolute and individual attribute 
of sensation ; the others are relative or comparative, common to 
all sensations alike (§ 26). Quality, then, will naturally stand 
alone ; qualitative ideas are a matter of course. My idea of 
lemonade is an idea built up from qualities of sensation ; it 
does not matter how long those qualities last, or how much 
lemonade there is, or into how wide a glass it is poured. My 
perception of a musical chord is qualitative, again ; duration and 
intensity do not occur to me, as I listen to it, — or, if they occur, 
are entirely subordinate to the quality of the total impression. 
Lemonade and the chord ^-^-^ are, first of all, themselves (§ 8) ; 
they are not so much of something, but something, different from 
other things. 

But the ' how large ' and ' how long ' of things are often im- 
portant. Hence extent and duration are made absolute, by 
reference to an arbitrarily selected unit, - — centimetre, second, — 
for the purposes of everyday life. We must know at what hour a 
train goes, how many go in the course of a day, at what rate they 
run, etc. We must know how many miles it is to the next town, 

1 Temperature sensations have the attribute of extent (§ 8). But as the 
temperature sensations which enter into extensive ideas are always combined 
with pressure, we shall not discuss them separately. 



1^4 Perception and Idea 

in what direction the town hes, what its size is, how its streets 
are planned, etc. The temporal and spatial attributes of sensa- 
tion thus become, as it were, detached in the idea from the qualities 
which they accompany : we can compare the distance from us of 
a sight and a sound, saying that " that voice comes from the other 
side of the wall " ; we can compare the duration of a taste and 
a pressure, or the rate of recurrence of tones and flashes. The 
qualities are here irrelevant : duration and distance are in the 
foreground. 

Intensity, however, has not been able to shake itself free of 
quality, as duration and extent, ' time ' and ' space,' have done. 
Intensity is always thought of as the intensity of a particular 
quality ; it would be meaningless to compare the intensities of 
sunlight and thunder-clap. Mankind has had no need to define 
intensity, to set up an intensive standard, as it has to define dura- 
tions and extents. It is enough, in most cases, to know that a 
light is ' fairly bright ' ; a taste ' too sweet ' ; a sound ' exceedingly 
faint.' Even to-day physics has no satisfactory unit either of light 
or of sound. Commerce has, it is true, developed a scale of 
weights, which can be looked upon as varying intensities of press- 
ure or of the complex of pressure and strain ; and we accord- 
ingly possess the ideas of a ' pound,' a ' kilogramme,' etc. But 
these ideas are of a very simple nature. They are confined to a 
single group of sensation qualities, and their names hardly denote 
more than degrees of se?tsatio?t intensity. They may, therefore, 
be left out of account here. 

I. Extensive Ideas 

§ 44. Locality or Position. — If we are pressed upon dif- 
ferent parts of the body, e.g., upon arm and forehead, we 
are able to indicate very exactly, even when the eyes are 
closed, the portion of skin affected : we have a clear idea 
of the locality of cutaneous pressure. As we sit looking 
at the wall opposite us, we have an equally clear idea of 
the position of each of the repeated patterns of the paper. 



§ 44- Locality or Position 155 

And again, if we are suddenly required to shut our eyes 
and describe the position of our arms, or to state the posi- 
tion of some part of our body which we cannot see, e.g., 
of a leg stretched under the table, we find no difficulty in 
the task : we can form a clear idea of locality or position 
from sensations of articular pressure. 

Method. — (i) Two methods have been employed to test the 
accuracy of cutaneous localisation, {a) The subject sits, with 
closed eyes, at a low table. His left arm is laid out, palm 
upwards, upon the table, and he holds a charcoal pencil in his 
right hand. The experimenter has a similar pencil, and sets it 
down for a moment upon the subject's left wrist : the subject, as 
soon as the pressure is removed, sets his own pencil down upon 
the same wrist, striking as nearly as possible the spot previously 
stimulated. Both pencils leave a mark. Hence if the subject 
has localised inaccurately, we can measure the amount of his 
mistake, and compare it with the mistakes made by other persons, 
or by the same individual at other parts of the skin, {b) The 
object of the second method is to determine how accurately we 
can localise within one and the same area. The two points of 
a pair of drawing-compasses are set down together upon the 
skin. If the distance between them is very small, they are not 
perceived to be two, but are taken for a single point. The 
distance separating them must be gradually increased. With a 
certain separation, they are perceived to be two, i.e., separately 
locahsed. 

When the points are applied in succession (first method), the 
average error of localisation on the wrist is from 5 to 10 mm. 
The subject thinks that he has struck the spot previously stim- 
ulated, when his pencil is in reahty this small distance to one side 
of the spot. The distance between simultaneously applied com- 
pass points (second method) which enables us just to perceive 
their difference, i.e., to locahse them differently, varies for different 
portions of the skin and for points of different sharpness. The 
results obtained by the use of exceedingly fine points are : on 



156 Perception and Idea 

the finger-tip, .1 mm. ; on the cheek, .5 mm. ; on the upper arm, 
.75 mm. ; on the back, 5 mm. 

(2) The just noticeable difference of visual position at the 
centre of the field of vision would be that of objects separated by 
the minimal visual extent, .005 mm. (§ 24). If the objects are 
situated in the outlying portions of the field, and their position 
observed in ' indirect vision,' z>., while the gaze is still directed 
upon the central portion, our discrimination of their position is 
far less accurate. To assure yourself of this, use the method 
described in § 24 ; but hang the white threads at the right or left 
end of the grey screen, while you look steadily at a black mark 
placed at its centre. 

(3) The just noticeable difference in the position of a Hmb, 
the least noticeable difference of ^ articular position,' is smallest in 
the case of the largest joints. By the shoulder we can perceive a 
difference of position when the arm has been moved through a dis- 
tance of .2° ; by the wrist no difference of position is perceptible 
until the hand has moved through .3° (the degrees are degrees of arc 
described by the moved member with shoulder or wrist as centre). 
The values for hip and ankle are, .5° and 1° respectively. Special 
instruments are required for experiments in this department ; the 
member to be moved must be laid out upon a support, and the 
support must be movable in various directions without any jar 
and without any alterations in the pressures and strains proceeding 
from the supported member at the beginning of the experiment. 

The physiological conditions of localisation have not as 
yet been satisfactorily made out. If we transplant a piece 
of skin from one part of the body to another, the trans- 
planted piece carries its old locality v^ith it. Thus a piece 
transplanted from the thigh to the back v^ould still give 
rise, for some little time, to thigh-impressions. Not until 
it has thoroughly settled down in its new surroundings 
does it take on their local character. In the same way, 
the displacement of a group of nervous end-organs from 



§ 44- Locality or Position 157 

one part of the retina to another carries with it a displace- 
ment of objects in the field of vision, which persists until 
the displaced organs have taken root again, and acquired 
a new local value. In some manner, which we do not as 
yet fully understand, the sense-organ mirrors, in its differ- 
ent parts, the different positions of external objects. 

But we not only localise : we consciously localise, i.e., have 
an idea of locality. To explain this fact it is necessary 
to assume that the sensations from skin, retina and articu- 
lar surface possess each a certain local mark or local sign, 
— some conscious peculiarity which gives them a definite 
space value, within the field of touch or vision. Any sen- 
sation from these three organs has, as a sensation, inten- 
sity, quality, extent and duration ; as a constituent of an 
extensive idea, it must possess local signature as well. 
What the local sign is, in any given case, depends upon 
mental constitution. 

Local Signs : (i) Skin. — Not only is the skin, physiologically 
regarded, a localising organ : the organism is endowed with reflex 
locaHsing movements. If a spot of skin is irritated, hand or foot 
moves to it reflexly, in obedience to purely physiological laws. 
Out of this unconscious localisation the conscious local mark 
arises, by the following stages, {a) The movement of hand or 
foot, though reflexly set up, occasions organic sensations in joint, 
tendon, etc. ; so that definite groups of organic sensations become 
connected with pressures upon particular parts of the body. The 
local sign may consist, therefore, of remembered organic sensa- 
tions, {b^ The reflex movement towards the irritated spot will 
usually be seen ; so that the local sign may contain a visual sensa- 
tion, a picture of the part touched, as weU as organic sensations. 
(<:) The organic sensations may pass unnoticed, owing to the 
habitual nature of the movement. The local sign of a pressure 
will then be a sensation of a quite different order, — a sensation of 



158 Perception and Idea 

sight. (^) Finally, the visual picture itself may disappear, and 
its place be taken by a word, the name of the part of the body 
pressed. Often enough, when we say that we remember an occur- 
rence, we remember only the form of words which describes it. 
So now, when I am touched upon the arm, there flashes up in my 
mind the word ' arm,' and this word is the local sign of the 
pressure. 

Method. — Have yourself touched at different parts of the skin. 
Introspect very carefully, to discover of what processes your own 
system of local signs is composed. In the first few trials, it may 
seem to you that the pressure itself has a different quahty in the 
different cases. But if you look closely, you will come upon the 
real local sign, probably a visual picture or a word. 

Vision is not essential for cutaneous local signature. Those 
who are born bhnd acquire an idea of the locality of pressures. 
Their local sign may be {a) a complex of organic sensations ; 
(^) a tactual map or picture of the part touched, plus the organic 
sensations ; {c) the tactual map alone ; or (^) a word. The '■ tac- 
tual picture ' is aroused and perfected by movement of the fingers 
over the touched spot ; its components would be extent of press- 
ure, i.e., the distance travelled over by the finger before it came 
to the edge of limb or trunk, certain hardnesses or softnesses of 
surface, etc. It is not easy for us, who see, to form an idea of 
such a ' picture ' ; but it undoubtedly exists. 

(2) Joint. — The local sign is here either {a) sl complex of 
organic and pressure sensations, aroused by the tension of skin 
and tendons and the contraction of muscle ; (/5) a complex of 
these and visual sensations; {e) visual sensations; or (d) a word. 

(3) £ye. — It has been suggested that the original local marks 
of the retina were also {a) organic sensations. The eyes turn re- 
flexly towards an object which has suddenly appeared in the field 
of vision, so that the object is brought opposite to the centres of 
the retinae, the spots of clearest vision. These reflex movements 
would give rise to sensations of strain and contraction, and the 
local mark would accordingly become conscious in the form of 
remembered organic sensations. There can be little doubt that 
these sensations are capable of the delicate gradation which would 



§ 44- Locality or Position 159 

be necessary if they were to form the basis of the visual idea of 
locahty. We know, however, (/;) that the same stimulus occasions 
different sensations, according to the part of the retina upon which 
it acts. What is red to the centre of the retina becomes bluish 
as it moves outwards from the centre, and finally, at the extreme 
edge of the field of vision, passes into black. We do not notice 
any differences of quality within a field of colour, because we have 
often moved our eyes over the entire surface of such fields, and 
thus learned that objective differences do not exist. But it may 
be, nevertheless, that they constitute the original local signature 
of the eye. 

These ideas of locality are ideas of the position of an 
impression upon an extended surface. We perceive the 
place of a pressure upon the surface of the body, the posi- 
tion of a particular pattern upon the extent of wall before 
us, the position of a limb within a plane of movement. 
But we possess other ideas of locality, ideas of the position 
of an object in three-dimensional space, which include the 
idea of distance from our own body. We can find where 
a thing is, in the dark, by stretching out our hand towards 
it; we can estimate the distance of a visual object from 
ourselves, or from some other object which we say is be- 
fore or behind it. The tactual idea of locality, in this 
second sense, is not hard to explain ; the visual idea has 
been variously accounted for. 

The Third DiJucnsion : (i) Tactual Idea. — The tactual idea 
of distance in the third dimension arises from the connection of 
extents of cutaneous pressure with the articular sensations called 
out by movement. The whole body or a bodily member moves 
towards the object, and comes into contact with it. Hence we 
have the tactual measures of distance, — foot, span, cubit, etc. 

(2) Visual Idea. — The corresponding visual idea has been 
explained in two ways, {a) The two eyes look at the same 



i6o Perception and Idea 

object in space from two slightly different points of view. We 
can take two photographs of the object from these points of view, 
placing a camera where each eye would be. Let us paste these 
photographs side by side upon a strip of cardboard, and lay the 
strip in a stereoscope, so that the photograph taken by the right 
hand camera is presented to the right eye and the other to the 
left. We see one picture only ; but this picture is very different 
from either of the separate photographs. It looks solid : we have 
an illusion of tridimensionality. From this it has been argued 
that we perceive distance because the pictures formed upon the 
two retinae by the same object are different ; and that we perceive 
differences of distance, because the differences between the two 
pictures increase or decrease, according as the object is near or 
far. On this view, the perception of tridimensional space follows 
directly from the bodily conditions of vision ; it is a necessary 
consequence of the double structure and single function of the 
organ of sight. Because we see one thing with two eyes, we see 
it as a solid, {b) Another hypothesis lays stress upon the strain 
sensations which proceed from the tendons by which the eye- 
muscles are attached to the eyeball. The strain sensations differ 
in intensity, according as the object upon which the eyes are 
' converged,' i.e., to which they are both directed, is situated at a 
greater or less distance from the body. The nearer the object, 
the greater the strain of ocular convergence ; the more remote the 
object, the less the strain. In this way, it is said, intensities of 
strain furnish a measure of the amount of distance. 

Method. — To test the discrimination of the eye for distances 
in depth, we hang a fine black thread midway between the face 
and a white screen or wall. The thread is gradually moved back- 
wards or forwards, by an assistant, until a difference of position 
(distance) is perceived. The subject should close his eyes dur- 
ing the interval between experiment and experiment, and during 
the time when the assistant is altering the position of the thread 
in a given experiment. On opening the eyes, he should look 
first at the white screen, and from that to the thread : the posi- 
tion of the eyes and strain of the eye muscles will thus be the 
same at the beginning of each experiment. The just noticeable 



§ 44- Locality or Position 



i6i 




difference of ocular convergence is one-fiftieth of the distance of 
the thread from the observing eyes ((/. the expression of Weber's 
law for strain sensations : §§27, 28). It is noteworthy that with 
a very slight degree of ocular convergence, i.e., when the thread 
hangs at a considerable distance from the eye, this difference of 
one-fiftieth corresponds 

to the least difference of ^ 

position which the eye 
can perceive on a plane 
surface. In concrete 
terms, if the thread is 
moved from a distance, 
say, of 200 cm. to one 
of 196 cm. (one-fiftieth 
nearer), the distance 
separating the two pict- 
ures which it throws on 
each retina in its two 
positions is .005 mm. 
{cf. Fig. 6). 

This fact seems to 
show that the sensations 
aroused by eye move- 
ments are capable of 
serving as the conscious 
local signs of visual sen- 
sations. 

It is impossible, in the present state of our knowledge, to decide 
between the two hypotheses given above. It may be that both 
contain a part of the truth, — that eye movement is the primary 
factor in the idea, but that it is assisted by the difference between 
the two retinal images. Certainly, the importance of movement 
for the tactual idea of locality suggests that eye movement may 
be of similar importance in the sphere of sight. And the number 
and arrangement of the twelve eye muscles lead us to ascribe 
some important functions to them, — just as the number and 
arrangement of the six semicircular canals indicate that they play 

M 



Fig. 6. — The eyes are converged upon the 
thread a; the thread throws two images 
upon the two spots of clearest vision, <:, c' . 
If the eyes are now converged upon the 
thread at b., the yellow spots will move to 
the positions </, d' . Under the conditions 
stated in the text, when the distance a~b is 
one-fiftieth of the total distance of the thread 
a from the eyes, the retinal distances c-d 
and c'-d' are .005 mm. 



1 62 Perception and Idea 

some important part in the total adjustment of the organism to 
its surroundings. The circumstance that in adult life we pay but 
little attention to the strain sensations aroused within the eye 
sockets does not count for much : we may have attended to them 
in childhood, i.e., at a time when we were incapable of introspec- 
tion ; or attention to them may date still farther back, to an earlier 
stage in the evolution of organic life. Moreover, as our experi- 
ence grows, we learn to infer the distance of an object by means 
of certain indirect or secondary criteria (§ 53), so that when the 
strain sensations had done their work they would naturally be 
replaced by other conscious processes. 

Those who accept the hypothesis of eye movement as correct 
declare that the apparent solidity of the combined stereoscopic 
pictures is not due to the bodily conditions of vision. It is not a 
direct consequence of the fact that we see one thing with two 
eyes, but rather a matter of habitual interpretation. We see in 
the stereoscope a surface of broken and irregular outline, and we 
construct a solid from this surface, by the help of remembered 
eye movements or of the secondary criteria just now referred to. 

Vision is by far the most important of the localising 
senses. Our idea of the posture or attitude of our body 
generally takes the form of a mental picture, although it 
might have been built up from articular sensations; and 
our idea of the locality of a pressure, or of the position of 
an object which we ' feel ' in the dark, is as a general rule 
a visual map of the place touched or of the object among 
its surroundings. If there is a conflict between the tactual 
and visual ideas, the visual wins, — we trust our eyes. 

Method. — Cross the second finger of the right hand over the 
forefinger, so that the top joint of the second finger points to the 
thumb. Take up a marble between the crossed finger-tips. You 
have two pressures : one from the right-hand side of the second 
finger, and one from the left-hand side of the forefinger. If the 
fingers were occupying their normal positions, these sides could 



§ 45- Form and Magnitude 163 

not be pressed by the same object ; and therefore, if you trust 
to your tactual idea of locaHty, you must suppose that you are 
holding not one marble, but two. But so accustomed are we to 
form a mental picture of what we are touching, that you will not 
be able at first to get the idea of two objects from the single 
marble, if you yourself take it up between your fingers. Close 
your eyes, and let an assistant put the marble in position in the 
course of a series of experiments with stimuli of whose nature 
you are not informed. Under these conditions you will judge that 
there are two objects in contact with your skin ; and having thus 
formed the true tactual idea, will be able to ' feel ' the marble as 
two even with your eyes open. But you regard it, of course, as 
one marble : the evidence of sight is believed. 

This experiment is as old as Aristotle. It is described in the 
Aristotelian tract "On Dreams," and the author explains it just as 
we have done, remarking that " sight stands above touch." 

§ 45. Form and Magnitude. — Our ideas of shape and 
size are, like those of position, of two kinds : superficial, 
ideas of the shape and size of pressures on the skin or 
patterns on a seen surface, and tridimensional, ideas of 
the shape and size of objects in space. Vision can furnish 
both kinds of ideas. Skin and joint together give us ideas 
of the form and magnitude of objects of three dimensions. 
The skin alone cannot do this ; if we had no eyes, and were 
unable to move, our ideas of form and size would be super- 
ficial only. 

A ' form ' is an extent which is bounded or limited in a 
certain way. When we look at a black mark on a grey 
surface, the boundary lines of the black mark naturally at- 
tract our attention : it is there that the contrast between 
the two qualities begins (§ 38). As the eye follows differ- 
ent boundary lines, it traverses different distances and rests 
at points of different position. Different names have been 



164 Perception and Idea 

given to the impressions which call forth in this way dif- 
ferent complexes of sensation in and about the eye : circle, 
square, cross, etc. The differences between the stimuli 
are differences of form. 

* Size 'is 'so much ' of a certain form. One square is 
twice the size of another when the extent comprised within 
its boundary lines is twice the extent comprised within the 
quite similar boundary lines of the other figure. 

(i) Superficial Ideas. — (<^) The cutaneous idea of form can 
be tested by applying to the skin surfaces of different shapes 
(squares, circles, etc., cut from wood or hard rubber). It has 
been found, e.g.^ that a triangular surface, if applied to the tip of 
the tongue, must have sides of 3.5 mm. length, if applied to the 
tip of the middle finger, sides of 7 mm. length, if it is to give rise 
to the idea of a triangle. 

To test the cutaneous estimation of size, apply a series of circles, 
triangles, etc., of gradually increasing size, to some part of the skin. 
Two circles are of just noticeably different size for the tip of the 
tongue if their diameters are .5 and i mm. respectively. 

The ' cutaneous size ' of a surface is less than its ' visual size. 
When, that is, we think of the surface in terms of a passive press- 
ure upon the skin, we think of it as smaller than it * looks.' 

{h) The visual idea of superficial form was originally gained by 
the help of movement, whether of the eye itself or of the stimulus. 
Either the eye moved along the boundary lines of the figure, or 
the figure, contained within its boundary lines, moved across the 
otherwise unchanged field of vision. After a time, these move- 
ments became unnecessary. The practised retina is able to dis- 
tinguish shape at a glance (§ 53). 

The just noticeable difference of visual size can be determined 
by a method similar to that described in § 27, except that, in 
place of threads, figures cut from cardboard must be used. 

(2) Tridimensional Ideas. — (^) The tactual idea of form, 
an idea derived from the connection of sensations from skin 
and joint, is capable of a high degree of development. The 



§ 45- Form and Magnitude 165 

blind, as is well known, read a '■ raised print ' easily and accu- 
rately. 

{b) The visual idea of tridimensional form is made up of the 
idea of superficial form////j- the perception of distance. 

The ' tactual size ' of an object is generally larger than its 
'visual size'; an object 'feels' to the moving hand larger than 
it looks. The tactual idea itself differs, according to the member 
by whose aid the estimate is made. The cavity of a hollow tooth 
seems greater to the tongue than it does to the finger. To both, 
it is greater than it is to the eye. 

The visual idea of the form and size of an object is most prompt 
and certain when the boundary lines of the object are unbroken ; 
the tactual idea, when they are broken. An object in the field 
of vision stands up more distinctly from its surroundings if its 
outline is continuous ; but a tactual form stands out most dis- 
tinctly from its background if the outline is interrupted. Test 
this by trying to read, with your finger-tips, two sentences, one 
printed in ordinary raised print, the other in the dotted bhnd- 
print. It is easier to ' feel ' a raised P when it is printed • * than 
when it is printed in the form P. 

There are two special questions which call for notice under the 
head of the visual idea of form. These are the questions of the 
continuity of the field of vision, and of the re-inversion of vision. 

(i) The Blind Spot. — When we look out over a landscape, we 
see it as an unbroken expanse. The field of vision is continuous ; 
there is nowhere any interruption of outline, any gap in the series 
of impressions. Yet the retina is not sensitive over its whole sur- 
face. Like the skin (§ 16), it is a mosaic of sensitive points. 
And the retinal mosaic, unlike the cutaneous, has within it one 
very large area which is altogether insensitive, — the place of 
entry of the optic nerve. 

Method. — It is easy to assure yourself that you are blind to 
certain stimuli in the field of vision. Seat yourself at a con- 
venient distance from a white screen. Close the right eye, and 
keep the left steadily directed towards a small black disc pasted 
upon the screen. Let an assistant move a similar black disc, held 




1 66 Perception and Idea 

upon a light rod, slowly across the screen, starting from the point 
of regard, and travelling towards your left. At first, as you look 
at the fixed disc, you will see both that and the other : the first 
in direct and the second in indirect vision. But after a little 
time, the moving disc will suddenly disappear. Yet it has not 
passed beyond the Hmits of the field of vision ; for if the assist- 
ant move it still further to your left, there comes a point where 
it as suddenly reappears. The distance from point of disap- 
pearance to point of reappearance is the breadth of the blind 

spot ; this can be 
marked in pencil up- 

*- on the screen. The 

form of the blind area 

can be determined 

by moving the black 

disc along all the va- 

P^iG. 7. — Blind spot of the author's left eye. rious meridians, ver- 

Reduced from a large diagram, in which the tical and oblique, and 

distance from the inner edge of the point of marking on the screen 

fixation, «, to the inner edge of the blind spot n • . r j- 

_ ,. r,. ■ , rr 3.11 pouits of disap- 

was 54.5 cm. Ihe distance ot the pomt of fixa- 
tion from the eye, in the experiments, was 2\ m. pearance and reap- 
pearance. 
Plainly, then, there is here a problem to be solved. The field 
of vision is broken ; yet, in ordinary life, we do not perceive that 
it is broken. Two explanations have been offered, (a) ' At 
the blind spot,' it is said, * we do not see afiything. If we saw a 
hole or gap in the field of vision we should be seeing somet/mtg. 
As we see nothing, the field must appear to be unbroken.' This 
explanation might be accepted, were there not experimental obser- 
vations which tell against it. For instance : we can estimate the 
distance between two points whose retinal images lie on either 
side of the blind spot as well as we can that between any other 
two points seen in indirect vision. Now if the explanation just 
given were correct, the two edges of the blind spot ought to come 
together, and two points lying one on either side of the spot to be 
brought so much nearer each other. Since the blind spot does 
not interfere with our estimation of visual extent, the space in the 



§ 45- Form and Magnitude 167 

field of vision to which it corresponds must be somehow 7f//<f^ ?//. 
This can be shown, again, in the following way. If we look at 
a printed page, under such conditions that the words at its centre 
fall upon the blind spot, we find that though the central words 
are not legible, there is visible in their place a hazy whiteness. 
Something is seen, though the something does not agree with the 
stimuli actually presented, {b) Evidently, then, the bhnd spot 
is blind only to peripheral impressions ; the area which it occupies 
in the field of vision is filled up by centrally aroused sensations, 
of the same general character as those aroused in the peripheral 
organ — sensations of greyish white, if we are looking at a printed 
page, of red if we are looking at a red surface, etc. The reason 
for these central sensations is to be found in the fact that the eyes 
can move. We have only to sweep our eyes over the printed 
page to discover that it is an unbroken surface ; we can read con- 
secutively from the top line to the bottom. We have moved our 
eyes over visual surfaces so often that we cannot help thinking of 
them as continuous ; and this thought is confirmed in every case 
of actual movement. Here, as in many other cases, we have 
lost sight of the conditions under which the idea grew up, and 
look upon the continuity of the visual field as a fact of direct 
perception. 

There can be no doubt that this explanation is correct, and 
that eye movement accounts for the filling up of the bhnd area. 
There is another circumstance, however, which assists eye move- 
ment in its task. The blind spots do not occupy the same posi- 
tion in the two eyes : so that, when we look with both eyes at 
a landscape, the part to which one eye is blind is seen by the 
other. This fact makes the continuity of the field a matter of 
course, when both eyes are used. But it is not sufficient to 
explain all the facts : it does not explain the continuity of a field 
seen with only one eye. 

(2) Reinverted Visio7i. — The rays of light proceeding from 
an object in the field of vision do not pass straight through the 
pupil to the retina, but cross at a point within the eyeball, and 
thus form upon the retina an inverted image. Since this fact has 
been known, the question has often been asked : How is it that 



1 68 Perception and Idea 

we see objects the right way up ? How does it come about that 
the retinal image, which is upside down, is set right again, 
reinverted? 

The answer is that we do not see what goes on in our eyes, but 
what is set before us in space : just as we do not hear what goes 
on in our ears, but hear the sound which is outside of the ear. 
Mankind saw things the right way up long ages before any man 
knew anything of the disposal of light rays upon the retina. We 
learn the up and the down of things by experience : that is up, 
which is where our head is ; that is down, which is where our feet 
are. The retinal image need be no more like the thing seen than 
the shake of the fibre of the basilar membrane is like the sound 
heard, or the chemical action of salt upon the tongue like the 
taste of salt in the mouth. 

The disposal of light rays upon the retina becomes important 
only when we wish to examine the mechanism of the eye as a 
piece of physical apparatus. We find, either by examining an- 
other person's eye with a special instrument, or by constructing 
an artificial eye of lenses and ground glass (a camera), that the 
' image ' formed by the entering rays is inverted. It is a physical 
necessity that this be the case, if the eye is to serve the purposes 
of vision, i.e., if it is to ^ work ' as an optical instrument. But the 
fact is irrelevant to psychology. Nobody has ever seen his own 
retinal * image.' 

§ 46. Extent of Movement. — Movement is a continuous 
change of position. The materials for the idea of move- 
ment are, therefore, in part the same as those for the idea 
of locality. Our idea of movement is made up, in part, of 
the ideas of an object in different positions. The other 
factor in the idea of movement is the persistence of sen- 
sation after the cessation of stimulus. By the help of 
an after-image or of memory we are able to perceive an 
object, as it v^ere, in two places at once : in the place 
which it has just left, and in the place to which it has 



§ 4^. Extent of Move7nent 169 

just come. Here we have the sense-material for the con- 
tinuity of change of position which the idea of movement 
includes. 

Our idea of movement is an idea which is at once exten- 
sive and temporal. Every movement is a movement so 
far, and also a movement during a certain time. Move- 
ment has extent, and is therefore an extensive idea ; it has 
rate or rapidity, and is therefore a temporal idea. 

Our estimation of the extent of movement may be 
founded upon sensations from skin, joint or eye. 

(i) Skin, — As a stimulus moves over the surface of the skin, 
it arouses sensations of different local signature. Each of these 
sensations lasts for a short time after the removal of the stimulus ; 
but the after-image of pressure is very brief, — too brief to be of 
much assistance to us in forming an idea of the distance passed 
over by the stimulus. On the other hand, we can remember each 
impression, for a little while, with great accuracy. Our estimation 
of the extent of movement, in purely cutaneous terms, is restricted 
to movements of stimulus which are either so short or so quick 
that the first local sign has not lapsed from consciousness when 
the last is reached. In all other cases, we are either entirely un- 
certain as regards the extent of movement, or make our estimation 
in terms not of pressure but of sight. 

The stimulus must pass from local sign to local sign, />., travel 
a certain distance, before its movement is remarked at all. And 
if the pressure is very light, or the movement very slow, we may 
have no idea of movement ; the first local sign may be forgotten 
when the next is reached. The distance passed over on the fore- 
arm before movement is noticed may amount to 10 mm. 

Method. — Move a charcoal point lightly in different directions 
over the skin of wrist or forearm, keeping the rate of movement 
as uniform as you can. Measure the distance which the point 
travels, in each case, before the subject cries out that it is moving. 
The distance will be greater if you move it upwards or downwards 
than if you move it across the limb. This is because localisation, 



1^0 Pejxeption and Idea 

conscious or unconscious (physiological), is less accurate upon 
the long axis of the body; the local signs are less thickly strewn, 
so to speak, than they are upon the short axis. And this, in its 
turn, is because we increase more in height than in breadth as we 
grow : we grow ' up.' Hence the nerve-endings in the skin are 
pulled further apart in the up and down directions than they are 
in the transverse. 

(2) Joint. — The idea of movement which is derived from 
articular sensations is always the idea of a movement of our own 
body or some part of it. The just noticeable extent of movement 
is, of course, the distance which the limb must travel to arrive at 
a just noticeably different position (§ 44). 

Method. — Lay a board, about 50 cm. long and 15 cm. wide, 
upon a low table. Place the forearm, palm upwards, upon the 
board, with the elbow projecting just beyond its near end. Close 
3^our eyes. Let an assistant raise the far end very carefully and 
gradually. Measure the height from the table to which the board 
may be raised before you have any perception of movement from 
the elbow-joint. To avoid jar at starting, it is best to have the 
near end of the board hinged to the table, and its far end raised 
by a cord running through a pulley. 

(3) Eye. — The visual idea of extent of movement is differ- 
ently formed, according as the eyes themselves move or remain 
stationary. 

(yd) If the eyes are fixed, visual movement, like cutaneous, can 
be estimated only in cases where the sensations first aroused, or 
their after-images or memories, are still running their course in 
consciousness when the last make their appearance. The eye has, 
here as always, the advantage of the skin : retinal sensations per- 
sist in after-images for longer than cutaneous, and after-images are 
more reliable than memories. 

The just noticeable movement, for the unmoved eyes, is the 
same as the just noticeable difference of visual position (§ 44). 

(Ji) But the head or eyes may move, following the moving 
stimulus. In this case, the retinal image of the object is kept 
constantly upon the same portion of the retina, instead of passing 
from one portion to another. Here, the estimation of movement 



§ 46. Extent of Moveme^it 171 

is of the articular type : the eyes turn in their sockets, or the head 
upon the shoulders, as the forearm turns in the elbow-joint. 

Estimation in terms of eye movement is very uncertain, unless 
there is somewhere in the field of vision a fixed point, to which we 
may refer when making it. The fixed point serves the same pur- 
pose under these circumstances as the persistence of the first 
sensation does when the eyes are not moved, or when we are form- 
ing our idea from cutaneous sensations. In the latter cases, the 
stimulus is spread over all points of its course at once : the move- 
ment, from starting-point to finish, is filled up with memory, after- 
image or peripheral sensation. In the present instance we have 
the fixed object as starting-point, and the final position of the 
moving object as finishing-point; while the fact of movement it- 
self is perceived from the series of pressure sensations aroused by 
the turn of the eyeballs in their sockets, and of strain sensations 
aroused by changes of ocular convergence. 

It may seem strange that eye movement, which is so important 
in other connections (eye measurement and convergence), should 
prove to be of such slight assistance in the formation of the idea 
of the extent of movement. In reality, it is just because of these 
other functions that the strain sensations are unable to help us 
now. In eye measurement, the eye moves from a fixed point and 
sweeps over a line ; in convergence, the eyes rest upon a certain 
fixed point at a definite distance from the body. If we take away 
the fixed point, as beginning or finishing point of movement, the 
sensations set up around the eyeball are uncertain guides. Move- 
ments of the eyes to and fro are very frequent, and very rarely 
remarked. Hence without the fixed point of reference we may 
make grave mistakes, even if we base our idea upon the true artic- 
ular sensations produced by rotation of the head : unnoticed move- 
ments of the eyes may have added something to or subtracted 
something from the result of head movement. 

Method. — The following experiment shows the uncertainty of 
estimation of extent of movement when the eyes are allowed to 
move, in the absence of a fixed point of reference. Seat your- 
self in a dark room. An assistant holds a dark lantern, by which 
he can throw a faint spot of Kght on the wall before you. The 



1/2 Perception and Idea 

spot is shown at irregular intervals and for different lengths of 
time; sometimes it is still, sometimes moved slowly to or fro. 
You will find that your judgments of its stationariness and move- 
ment are frequently incorrect. 

II. Temporal Ideas 

§ 47. Rhythm. — When we walk, we have a regular 
alternation of strong and weak sensation complexes. We 
are resting, perhaps, on the left foot. This means a mass 
of strong pressures on the sole of that foot, a severe press- 
ure in knee and hip, etc. The right foot swings forward. 
This means a complex of weak pressures (after-images, 
pressure of boot) from the sole of that foot, and a per- 
ception of movement — with relaxation of pressure, how- 
ever — in knee and hip. The right foot is then set down: 
strong. The left leg swings forward : weak. The left 
foot comes down again : strong, — and so on. A similar 
alternation is observable in respiration. We inspire, 
short ; expire, long ; inspire, short ; etc. These alterna- 
tions of strong and weak, long and short sensation com- 
plexes are the basis of the idea of rhythm. 

The auditory idea of rhythm has been far more highly 
developed than the tactual. We cannot listen to any fairly 
rapid succession of sounds without putting rhythm into 
it (§ 42). Sounds are, indeed, better material for the idea 
of rhythm than are tactual complexes ; for the limbs are 
fixed to the trunk, and can therefore do no more than 
oscillate to and fro, pendulum fashion, giving of necessity 
the most rudimentary form of rhythm, — beat' beat, beat' 
beat, — whereas a series of sounds can be divided into 
groups of any complexity. The rhythm : beat" beat beat, 
beat' beat beat, beat" beat beat, beat' beat beat, could 



§ 47' Rhytinn 173 

not be formed from tactual impressions, but is easily con- 
structed when we have a succession of free stimuli, and 
can place the changes of intensity at any desired point 
in the succession. 

Hence it is intelligible that, in cases of conflict, auditory rhythm 
should outweigh tactual. When we think of the rhythm of walk- 
ing, we do so as a rule under the form : left' right, left' right, 
etc., and not under the form : press' swing, press' swing, etc., as 
given above. This is because we think of walking in terms of 
hearing, we listen to an imaginary march. The swing is noiseless ; 
and the accent is consequently placed upon one of the two treads. 

The simplest auditory rhythms are successions of two or three 
beats, one of which is stronger than the other or than the other 
two. The poetical 'feet,' iambus, trochee, dactyl and anapaest, are 
instances of the four possible forms which these simplest rhythms 
may take : w_, — w, — ww, ww — The musical 'measure,' which 
corresponds to the poetical foot, may be far more complicated. 
Thus we may have twelve impressions, accented as follows : 

I II I I 




in music written, perhaps, 

ff J) pf p 2lf P f P Pf P 






or accented in this way 



III I II I 

9 p p f p ^ p p f f p p 



I III 

J I I I 



in music written, perhaps, 

/ pp pp p pp pp pf pp pp p pp pp 
P P P P P P p p p p p p 



1/4 Perception a7id Idea 

i.e., a succession of four or six simple rhythmical forms, with four 
degrees of accent or intensity. 

Above the foot stands the line or verse ; and above the measure 
the phrase. These represent a further development of the audi- 
tory idea of rhythm ; they are rhythmical wholes, just as are the 
foot or measure, but rhythmical wholes of a higher order. Neither 
can contain more than six feet or measures : a seven-footed line or 
a seven- measured phrase falls to pieces, ceases to be rhythmical. 

Once more : above the verse comes the stanza ; and above the 
phrase stands the period. These are rhythmical wholes of a still 
higher order. Neither can contain more than five verses or 
phrases; as a general rule, neither contains more than four. 

Method. — Set a metronome beating, with an interval of about 
a quarter of a second between stroke and stroke. Try to throw 
the beats into all the different possible rhythms, trochaic, iambic, 
etc. You will find it quite easy to change from rhythm to rhythm, 
especially if you use movement to assist you, — moving foot or 
hand when the beats come which you wish to emphasise. Then 
see how complex a foot or measure you can construct in the vari- 
ous rhythms. 

We found in § 42 that the attention could grasp 40 metronome 
beats as a single whole, if these were apprehended as 5 impres- 
sions of 8 beats each. This is the extreme range of attention, 
under experimental conditions. The measure or foot is here a 
trochee; the verse or phrase contains four feet or measures 
accented as follows : 

v . ; . ;■ . ; . 

I I t I I 



and the stanza or period contains five verses or phrases. 

§ 48. Rate of Movement. — Our estimation of the rate, 
as of the extent, of movement may be founded upon sensa- 
tions from skin, joint or eye. It is a general rule, in all 
three sense departments, that quick movement is more 
readily perceived than slow^. 



§ 4^. Rate of Movement 175 

(i) Skin. — A stimulus which travels at a uniform rate over 
the skin does not give rise to the idea of uniform movement. 
We take the movement to be quicker at parts of the skin upon 
which localisation is accurate than at parts where it is inaccurate. 
In the former case more local signs are aroused in the time occu- 
pied by the movement ; the movement has a more varying con- 
tents. A more diversified contents in a fixed time is perceived as 
a greater rapidity of movement during that time. 

Method. — Draw a pencil point at a uniform rate from shoulder 
to finger-tips. Its movement will appear to quicken and slacken 
as it passes over areas of greater and less localising power. 

On the other hand, if a thread be drawn by an assistant between 
your forefinger and thumb, at first quickly and then more slowly, 
you will not know that the same length of thread has been em- 
ployed : the thread will seem to be shorter in the first experiment 
than in the second. If it is pulled quickly, you receive no clear 
impressions from its irregularities ; you have one blurred impres- 
sion. If it is pulled slowly, you perceive all the roughnesses and 
unevennesses of its surface ; the movement has a more diversified 
contents. Here, diversified contents in a longer time is inter- 
preted as a greater extent of thread. 

(2) Eye. — The eye can just perceive a movement, in direct 
vision, if its rate is that of .0028 mm. in the second. 

It is difficult to compare the rapidity of two movements, to say 
which is the quicker and which the slower, if the movements are 
at all quick. The after-images of the moving stimulus persist so 
long as to render an estimation almost impossible. 

(3) Joint. — All that we know of the rapidity of articular move- 
ment is the general fact stated above. Quick movements are 
more readily noticed than slow. This can be shown by the help 
of the apparatus described in § 46. 

The following plan might be followed to test how accurately we 
can compare the rate of articular movements. Lay the right hand 
upon a low table. Bend the three last fingers and the thumb, 
leaving only the forefinger extended. Insert the tip of this finger 
in a metal cap, which is carried upon a smoothly running wheel. 
The wheel must be run by clockwork, or by weights hung below 



1/6 Perception and Idea 

the table ; and its speed must be variable, and known in each 
experiment. Let an assistant set it so that it carries the finger 
over the same distance in two successive movements, but at dif- 
ferent rates. Find the smallest difference of rate which is percep- 
tible with a constant extent of movement. 

If the whole body is moved, without jar and at a uniform rate, 
the movement passes entirely unnoticed. If the movement slows 
or quickens, however, it is perceived at once. The perception 
may be due to the inertia of the body : we are carried forward as 
the movement slows, and jerked backward as it quickens. The 
suggestion has also been made that the acceleration of movement 
sets up a wave in the endolymph of the internal ear, and that we 
consequently owe its perception to the static sense (§ 20). If 
this is correct, the static sense has two qualities, giddiness and a 
peculiar pressure, and the latter unites with the sensations pro- 
duced by the inertia of the body to give us the idea of increased 
or decreased rate of movement. 

III. Qualitative Ideas 

§ 49. Clangs. — A clang is an assemblage of tones. It 
is the conscious process v^hich corresponds to a compound 
air-wave, as the tone corresponds to a simple wave-move- 
ment of the air particles. 

When we hear a chord of three or four notes struck 
upon the piano, we realise that it is a chord, i.e., a percep- 
tion, and not a single tone, a sensation. But we realise, 
also, that the notes of the chord somehow fit together, 
belong to one another, form a single impression. If we 
sound three or four neighbouring notes, we obtain a very 
different effect: the complex 'falls to pieces,' the notes 
seem mutually repellent. As compared with a single note, 
the chord is complex ; as compared with a discord, it is a 
single impression. 



§ 49- Clmtgs 177 

But not even the note is a sensation, an unanalysable 
elementary process ; it is a chord, composed of a number 
of tones. The strongest tone gives name and character to 
the note, but other, weaker tones are always present in it. 
To a trained ear there is as much difference between a 
note and a tone as to the untrained ear between a note 
and a chord or a chord and a discord. 

It is clear from these instances that under certain cir- 
cumstances tone qualities can mix or blend together, their 
mixture giving rise to a single total impression, a single 
perception ; while under other circumstances they remain 
separate, and are distinctly sensible in the complex impres- 
sion. In the note we have the highest degree of tonal 
fusion, as it is called : one of the constituent tones is so 
strongly predominant as to give its own quality to the 
whole assemblage. In the chord we have a less complete 
fusion. It is true that each of the component notes loses 
something of its qualitative distinctness, and that the chord 
is a single perception. But the hearer cannot doubt, as 
he can in the case of the note, that the perception is a 
complex of simple processes ; with a little trouble he can 
distinguish these, the tones, in the total mass of sound. 
Lastly, in the discord we have the lowest degree of fusion, 
the refusal to blend : the component notes stand out side 
by side. 

The note is known technically as the simple clang ; the 
chord and discord as compotmd clangs. 



The strongest tone in the note is termed the * fundamental.' 
The other, weaker tones are ' overtones.' When a violin string is 
plucked, it vibrates not only as a whole, but in sections as well : 
half, third, quarter, etc. The fundamental is the tone of the whole 



178 Perception and Idea 

string ; the overtones are the tones corresponding to the vibrations 
of the half-string, third-string, quarter-string, etc.^ 

What holds of the viohn string holds of any vibrating body : 
metal rod, mass of air, etc. We always have a fundamental tone 
and a series of overtones. As a general rule, the overtones be- 
come weaker, the farther they are removed from the fundamental : 
the vibration of the quarter-string gives rise to a weaker tone than 
the vibrations of the half-string and third-string. But the relative 
strength of the overtones is different in the case of different vibrat- 
ing bodies. Thus the air masses of the viola and clarionette vibrate 
in thirds, fifths, sevenths, etc., more strongly than in halves, quarters, 
sixths, etc. ; the hammer strikes the piano string in such a way that 
the sixth overtone does not sound ; the reed-pipes of an organ give 
a regular series of overtones, which decrease in intensity, in accord- 
ance with the general rule, from the lowest upwards. The note of 
each musical instrument thus has a peculiar character or colouring ; 

1 As the overtones correspond to the vibrations of the half, third, quarter, etc., 
of the vibrating body, their vibration rates will be twice, three times, four times, 
etc., that of the fundamental. If we represent the fundamental vibration rate by 
I, the overtones will have the vibration rates 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, etc.; if we represent 
it by 2, the overtones will form the series 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, etc. 

The relation of the overtone to its fundamental must not be confused with 
the relation of the two tones composing a musical interval. The sixth over- 
tone, e.g., does not make with its fundamental the musical interval of the sixth. 
The notes of the musical scale are named a, b, c, d, c, f, g. The musical inter- 
vals are calculated by reference to these names. Thus a-c, b-d, d-f, e-g, f-a are 
all thirds : three notes are involved in the composition of each. So a-e, b-f, 
c-g, etc., are all fifths: five notes are involved in the composition of each one. 

The vibration rates of the chief musical intervals form the following ratios : 
octave, 1:2; fifth, 2:3; fourth, 3:4; major sixth, 3:5; minor sixth, 5:8; 
major third, 4:5; minor third, 5:6; second, 8:9; major seventh, 8:15; 
minor seventh, 5 : 9. 

We can now state the relation of overtone to fundamental in terms of the 
musical intervals. The series, with i as fundamental, is : 

1:23456.... 
Fundamental and first overtone constitute an octave; fundamental and second 
overtone, an octave and a fifth; fundamental and third overtone, two octaves; 
fundamental and fourth overtone, two octaves and a major third; fundamental 
and fifth overtone, two octaves and a fifth, etc. 



§ 49- Clangs 179 

or, technically, the clangs of different instruments have different 
clang-tints. 

It is a difference of clang-tint which differentiates the vowel 
sounds of the human voice. The larynx, the primitive musical 
instrument, is thus seen to be in reality a number of instruments : 
an ^-instrument, an ^-instrument, an //-instrument, etc. This fact 
accounts, in part, for the superiority of the voice over any string or 
wind instrument in the matter of expression. The viohn approaches 
nearest to the voice, since the violinist can vary the overtones of his 
instrument, within wide Hmits, by striking the strings at different 
points ; and can thus evoke notes or chords of different clang-tint. 

Method. — The analysis of a note into its constituent tones is 
most easily performed by the aid of a sonometer and a set of re- 
sonators, such as are used in the physical laboratories. The sono- 
meter is an instrument somewhat resembling a single-stringed vio- 
lin ; and the resonators are bottles of glass or metal, each of which 
contains a mass of air whose vibration corresponds to a particular 
tone. The sonometer string is plucked, and its vibrations give 
rise to a clang. The resonators are applied to the ear in quick 
succession, during the sounding of the clang. All those whose 
peculiar tone is among the overtones of the clang send a loud 
sound into the ear : the others are silent. 

If you have not these instruments, try the following experiment 
with a piano. The middle c of the scale contains in it a number 
of overtones, the loudest of which are the c^ and g' of the next 
octave, and the <r", g" and <?" of the octave above that. Sound 
one of these last notes softly by itself; and when you have it 'in 
your head,' strike the key of the middle c. You will be able, 
with a httle practice, to hear the overtone, which you have just 
Hstened to separately, ring out from the body of the clang. 

Experiments upon compound clangs, chords and discords, are 
best made with a set of tuning-forks. Tuning-forks give pure 
tones ; not clangs. If they are not available, you can again make 
use of a piano. Let an assistant strike the various musical ' inter- 
vals ' within the middle octave of the scale, in haphazard order. 
Record your judgment of the composition of each clang sounded, 
your judgment, i.e., as to whether it contain two notes or only 



i8o Perception and Idea 

one ; and note further whether you decide promptly or hesitat- 
ingly. If you feel that it is impossible to judge impartially when 
you know that two notes will be given in each experiment, let the 
assistant intersperse the series of intervals with occasional single 
notes. In this way you will avoid the expectation error. 

You will find that the interval of the octave {^c-c^) is most often 
taken to be a single note ; less often the fifth {c-g) ; still less 
often the fourth {c-f) ; seldom the thirds and sixths {c-e, c-Ve, c-a, 
e-ka) ; never the second and sevenths (c-d, c-b, c-Vb^. The 
oetave shows the highest degree of fusion, the second and 
sevenths the lowest. 

You can then go on to experiment with groups of three and 
four tuning-fork tones or piano notes, arranging these more com- 
plex clangs in the order of fusion, from the highest to the lowest 
degree. Or you can alter the intensity, either of all the compo- 
nent tones or notes, or of some one of them ; and see whether the 
degree of fusion is changed by these changes of intensity. 

Clangs are typical of qualitative ideas in general : of the ideas 
built up from sensations of smell and taste, of the qualitative com- 
plexes of pressure and temperature, of the mixtures of pressure 
with organic sensations (resistance, impact, etc.), and of the mixt- 
ures of colour and brightness ; and they furnish the best illustra- 
tion of the way in which quahtative ideas are formed. For (i) we 
are or can be as familiar with the elementary component pro- 
cesses as we are with their mixture ; whereas we never get colour 
apart from brightness, and only with difficulty get strain, articular 
pressure, etc., separate in experience; (2) the universal distribu- 
tion of musical instruments makes it possible for any one to 
examine them ; and (3) they show all degrees of blending, from 
an almost unanalysable singleness of impression (the tuning-fork 
octave) to an unmistakable complexity (second or seventh). 

§ 50. Melody. — As movement is both temporal and 
spatial, so melody is both temporal and qualitative. It 
presupposes both clang and rhythm. 



§ 50. Melody l8i 

A melody is, in the first place, a succession of single 
clangs. These clangs cannot be chosen at random ; we 
know that a mere sounding of clangs, one after the other, 
does not give rise to what we call a tune. The composer 
has always to select from a definite series of clangs. Or, 
in other words, every melody, however primitive it may 
be, is composed in a certain scalcy however rudimentary. 
Its clangs, i.e., are chosen from a restricted number, 
arranged at approximately fixed intervals. 

It is probable that all scales begin with the interval of 
the descending fourth. A c being given, the first note to 
be fixed is the G of the octave below. After this G — or 
possibly, in some few instances, before it, as the first 
added note — comes the ascending fifth, the g of the 
octave of which c is the lowest note. The other notes of 
the scale are gradually established between these limits, 
G-g, as the musical appreciation of mankind develops. 

We are accustomed to think of a scale as beginning in the bass 
and continuing upwards towards the treble. It is natural, how- 
ever, that the primitive scales should descend, run from treble to 
bass. The earliest melody must have been very like our recita- 
tive : and the voice falls or drops at the end of each sentence. 

The descending scale rests, first of all, upon the fourth below 
its starting-point, because this interval is the ordinary drop of the 
voice in speaking. It rises, first of all, to the fifth above its start- 
ing-point, because this is the ordinary rise of the voice in ques- 
tioning. 

The scale which has been universally adopted in Western music 
is an ascending scale of twelve notes (semitones) to the octave. 
These notes are c, %c, d, id, e, /, tf, g, tg, a, ia, b. Traces 
of other scales are occasionally found : e.g., in Scotch bagpipe 
music. 

As the scale becomes complex, the rules of melody necessarily 



1 82 Perception and Idea 

become precise. Hence we have such canons as that the melody 
must begin and end with the same note, the ' tonic ' clang. We 
pass from first to last note, from tonic to tonic clang, through 
clangs whose overtones are partially identical ; so that a conti- 
nuity of movement is secured, similar to that which we have 
explained by the persistence of sensation, as after-image or 
memory, in tactual and visual movement (§ 46). 

The semitone is not by any means the least difference of pitch 
that the ear can discriminate (§ 13). But it is the least difference 
which the voice can sing with any accuracy ; and we have seen 
that the larynx is the earliest musical instrument. The singing of 
two successive semitones, then, means a just noticeable adjustment 
of the laryngeal muscles, a just noticeable difference of two com- 
plexes of strain sensations. The musical scale was formed not by 
ear, but by voice ; and this is one of the reasons why music uses 
so few of the tones. 

Weber's law tells us that equal differences of sensation cor- 
respond to relatively equal differences of stimulus. Whether the 
vocal cords are slack or tense, therefore, their tension must be in- 
creased in the same proportion, if we are to get a just noticeable 
difference of strain sensation, i.e., the difference of a semitone in 
the vibration rates of the cords. Hence we should expect to find 
what is actually the case : that as the tc has T)^ vibrations in the 
first second when the c has 32, it has 72 when the c has 64, 144 
when the c has 128, and so on. 

A melody is, in the second place, a succession of 
rhythms. It consists of a number of measures, rounded 
to phrases and periods. The rhythm helps to hold the 
changing clangs together, as the melody proceeds ; and 
the return of melody to its tonic clang helps to hold 
together the series of rhythms. 

We have in a given melody, then, a qualitative whole in a 
temporal setting. The melodic idea is more complex than those 
which we have discussed hitherto. It lies on the border-line 
between an idea and a successive association of ideas. 



§ 51- The Fimction of the Idea 183 

§ 51. The Function of the Idea. — Two of the questions 
of § 43 have now been answered : we have seen how ideas 
are formed, and which of the four attributes of sensation 
are of the greatest importance for their production.' We 
have not yet answered the third question, — under what 
circumstances the idea acquires its unity or singleness for 
mental experience. 

Not every sensation complex has this unity or single- 
ness ; so that not every sensation complex can be termed 
a perception or idea. The visual quality of yellow and 
the tonal quality of the middle c may be together in con- 
sciousness. Yet there is no yellow-r or ^-yellow idea. 
On the other hand, not every complex of sensations 
which can be called unitary or single can also be called 
a perception or idea. The experiences of drowsiness, 
fatigue, health, etc. (§21) are complexes of sensations 
and affection closely connected; yet we should hardly 
speak of them as perceptions or ideas. Despite their 
singleness in experience, we term them groups of or- 
ganic sensations, or, less accurately, organic sensations. 
The unity or singleness of the idea must, therefore, be 
of a special kind and result from special conditions. 

The idea is unitary because it is the conscious repre- 
sentative of a single object or process in the outside world. 
It is a complex of elementary mental processes which, in 
Its entirety, corresponds to the various aspects or phases 
of a physical object or process. The object or process 
appeals to us in different ways, by different sense chan- 
nels; and each kind of appeal is represented in the 
idea. The reason for its singleness, its self-consistency, 
is, therefore, a biological reason : what the organism finds 
together in the world in which it lives, remains together 



184 Perception and Idea 

in perception or idea. The physical processes underlying 
the visual quality yellow and the auditory quality c are not 
connected together, and consequently the qualities them- 
selves cannot join to form an idea. On the other hand, 
the qualities corresponding to the organic, bodily processes 
underlying health, etc., are never found apart, and their 
analysis is very difficult. Hence they are ordinarily re- 
garded as sensations. When analysed, however, the com- 
plexes prove to correspond to different physical processes 
at different parts of the body. Hence to the psychologist 
they form a group of sensations, not an idea. Different 
from both the yellow-<; complex and these complexes of 
organic sensations is the simple clang, or note. Here the 
qualities are so closely blended that the whole is popularly 
regarded as a sensation. When analysed, it falls into a 
number of constituents ; but these all correspond to the 
various phases of one physical movement-process, — and 
the clang is accordingly a true perception or idea. 

We are now in a position to understand why there should be 
those conflicts, between ideas derived from different senses, of 
which we have more than once spoken (§§ 44 ff.). Although 
all the sense-organs are in the service of the same organism, each 
of them mirrors or reflects the objects and processes of the physi- 
cal world in its own special way. As the senses stand upon dif- 
ferent levels, some being more and some less highly developed, 
discrepancies must necessarily arise when two of them furnish the 
same kind of idea. The appeal is always to vision, — to the most 
highly developed class of four-attribute sensations. "Seeing is 
beheving." 

The ideas which conflict with visual ideas, and which for that 
reason we refuse to accept, are termed illusory ideas. They are 
deceptive ideas, ideas which ' play with ' us. If two blunt points 
are set down upon the skin of the back at a distance of 60 mm. 



§51- The Fujictio7i of the Idea 



185 



apart, they are taken to be but one impression, i.e., tactually 
localised at the same place. This tactual idea of locality is 
illusory ; we have only to see the stimuli to believe that they are 
two. — Draw a pair of compasses, whose points are 2 cm. apart, 
across the face from ear to ear, so that one point travels over the 
upper lip, and the other between lower hp and chin. Your tact- 
ual idea of the figure described will be that of an oval. The 
points seem to come together at the ears, where you cannot 
localise impressions accurately, and to separate at the lips, where 
your power of localisation is greater. This idea of an oval is 
illusory : sight would tell you that the compass points are describ- 
ing two parallel hues. — The size of the cavity of a hollow tooth, 
as perceived by the tip of the tongue, is illusory, as are also the 
differences which the skin perceives in the rate of a movement 
known by the eye to be uniform. — If as we he upon the tilt- 
board the strains and pressures in head and neck and back tell us 
that we are standing upon our head, and we then open the eyes 
and ' see ' that we are only 60° from the horizontal, we reject the 
tactual idea and accept the visual. The former is illusory. 

Yet we are often deceived by the eye itself, and know that we 
are deceived. In such cases we speak, not of a visual perception 
or idea, but of an optical illusio7i. Thus the eye declares that the 
railway lines along which we are 
looking meet at the horizon, 
and that a square figure is 
higher than it is broad. The 
eye, that is to say, is, no more 
than the skin, an absolutely 
reliable mirror of external ob- 
jects and processes: if we did 
not know that the hnes are 
parallel and that the square is 
equilateral, the eye would de- 
ceive us. 

17- o • • . r Fig. 8. 

l^igure 8 gives mstances of 

optical illusions in the sphere of extensive ideas. The two cross- 
lines in a seem to be parts of one and the same line. This is not 




lS6 Perceptioji and Idea 

the case ; so that we have in the figure an illusion of position. 
In h a square is inscribed in a circle. But the four arcs appear to 
belong to smaller circles, and the sides of the square to bend 
inwards ; so that the figure seems to be of the same type as c. 
We have in it an illusion of form. The open semicircle in d looks 
larger than the closed. Both are of the same size : the figure 
gives us an illusion of magnitude. 

The first of these illusions is the result of two factors. We 
always overestimate vertical distances, because it requires more 
effort — the strain sensations must be stronger — to move the eye 
up than to move it out or in. Hence the left-hand cross-line is 
put too high in our idea, and its continuation accordingly looked 
for at too high a point on the right of the rectangle. We also 
overestimate the size of small angles. Since the acute angle made 
with the rectangle by the left-hand cross-line is overestimated, the 
continuation of the line on the right will again be looked for too 
high up. — The second illusion also depends on the fact of the 
overestimation of small angles. The angles made by the sides of 
the square with the four arcs are regarded as larger than they 
really are. The illusion necessarily follows. The overestimation 
itself is probably due to the passing of the eye along the lines 
forming the angle, and the consequent forcing-apart of those lines 
in perception. — The third illusion is accounted for by the fact 
that the open semicircle offers no impediment to eye movement, 
while the closed figure seems to check it above and below. 

We have a visual illusion of movement from what is called the 
stroboscope. A series of instantaneous photographs of some 
moving object, e.g., a flying bird, are taken in rapid succession. 
These are pasted at regular intervals on the inside of a cardboard 
cylinder. In the wall of the cylinder, above the photographs, are 
cut a number of narrow vertical shts, each one directly opposite 
to one of the pictures. Twirl the cylinder round, while you look 
down through the slits at the photographs. You will see, not the 
separate phases of the flying movement, but a continuous flight. 
The reason is, that each impression persists for a little time after 
the stimulus has passed by. 

The phenomena of contrast furnish instances of illusions of 



§ 51- TJie F2t7iction of the Idea 187 

visual quality. If a light grey square is laid upon a background 
of deep red, it appears not grey but greenish, etc. The colours 
and brightnesses must not be too intense, or they are too much 
themselves to be affected by neighbouring colours and bright- 
nesses ; and they must not be too weak, or there is not enough 
quahty in them, so to speak, for contrast effects to arise. No 
satisfactory explanation of contrast has yet been given. 

In all these cases, vision is the test of vision ; we know from 
the eye that the eye has deceived us. We soon learn by experi- 
ence that the appearance of objects in the field of vision alters as 
the position of the eyes alters ; the table that looks square from 
one point of view seems to be a trapezoid from another. Hence 
it becomes necessary, for practical purposes, to construct an ideal 
or standard eye, and to accept its verdict in all cases where the 
real eyes leave us in doubt, or where two actual visual perceptions 
contradict each other. The ideal or standard eye is the nieasnr- 
ing or mathematical eye ; the eye that perceives distances and 
sizes and forms in terms of yards or metres, and directions in 
terms of angular distance from some fixed point or line. The 
measuring eye abstracts from all the varying conditions under 
which an object is seen, and perceives it always under standard 
conditions. Where we stand the railway lines are 4 ft. 8^ in. 
apart j if we walk to the point where the horizon lay, they are 
there too 4 ft. Z\ in. apart : therefore they do not meet at the 
horizon, as the eye which sees the whole extent at once would 
have us believe they do. The square looks higher than it is 
broad ; but the height is i cm. and the breadth i cm. : there- 
fore the figure is equilateral. 



CHAPTER VIII 

The Association of Ideas 

§ 52. The Nature and Forms of Association. — Our dis- 
cussion of the perception or idea has brought us face to 
face with concrete facts, with actual items of mental 
experience. 

But although the idea is an item of experience, and may 
thus be regarded as complete in itself, it is not a * thing,' 
definite in outline and impermeable to outside influences. 
Looked at from within, it is a complex of fluid processes. 
Even the most clear-cut idea, the idea of a 'thing,' gives 
evidence in support of this statement : its centre of in- 
terest, the part-process in it which holds the attention, is 
constantly changing (§ 2). Looked at from without, it is 
itself a fluid process ; a process of varying extent and 
varying form, set in the midst of a tangle of similar pro- 
cesses, i.e., of a consciousness. 

In § 9 we compared consciousness to a fresco ; it is a whole in 
which there are no breaks, but a smooth connection of part with 
part. The comparison will be useful to us now, as an aid to our 
understanding of the nature of the idea. The idea is, in one 
sense, something by itself, complete in itself; just as the figures 
in the fresco are, as human figures, complete in themselves and 
separable from the rest of the painting. But the idea is, in 
another sense, incomplete ; it is never found alone, out of its 
mental setting ; it runs over into other ideas. And the figures in 
the fresco are also incomplete, gaining their full significance only 

188 



§ 52. NaUire and Forms of Association 189 

as parts of the painter's total conception, while their outlines are 
not sharp and rigid, but merge in their background at the same 
time that they stand out upon it. The figures imply the whole 
fresco : the ideas imply the whole of consciousness. 

It is natural, then, that the connection of elementary 
processes should not stop short at the idea. Just as the 
sensations which are set up at the same time by the exci- 
tation of different bodily organs, or of different parts of 
the same organ, unite to form an idea or perception, so do 
the sensations which have entered into different ideas or 
perceptions unite to form still more complex processes, 
still larger sections of mental experience. And just as we 
passed from the consideration of sensation to that of per- 
ception or idea, so we must now pass from this to the con- 
sideration of what is called the * association of ideas.' 

Suppose that I am sitting in my study, and find my 
train of thought suddenly interrupted by the perception of 
a loud rumbling noise. The perception may be the whole 
of the experience : I may feel a momentary impatience at 
the interruption, and then return at once to my work. 
But, on the other hand, the perception may call up in my 
mind the vague picture of some heavy vehicle on the 
street below my window ; and if, earlier in the day, I have 
seen a traction engine somewhere in the neighbourhood, 
this visual picture may be made definite, and further con- 
nected with the verbal idea 'traction engine.' There is no 
appreciable lapse of time between the original sound per- 
ception and the appearance of these other ideas : the noise 
is no sooner heard than picture and word are together 
with it in consciousness. In such cases we speak of a 
simultaneous association. 

This, again, may be the whole of the experience : with 



190 The Association of Ideas 

the completion of the simultaneous association I may 
return to my work. But the interruption may go still 
farther. The idea of the traction engine may arouse in 
my mind the picture of an accident that I witnessed some 
years ago, — the quick turn of a similar engine round a 
sharp corner, the sideward spring of a horse, startled by 
sight and sound, and the overthrow of the carriage. This 
in turn may give place to the picture of the man who 
jostled me as the crowd ran towards the scene of the mis- 
hap. And so the process is continued. ' He was curi- 
ously like Jones : I have not seen Jones since I was at 
school : the first time I saw him there he was eating sand- 
wiches on the library table : I always said that there was 
no use in letting those books stay in cloth bindings : that 
reminds me, — I had better get my magazine sets bound 
before they cost too much : all the same, I don't like to 
spare those articles of Brown's; I shall want them for — 
ah ! all this waste of time over that absurd traction 
engine ! ' Every one will be able to parallel this series of 
ideas from his own experience. It is an illustration of the 
second form of the association of ideas, successive associa- 
tion. 

The phrase, ' association of ideas,' is doubly misleading. In the 
first place, it is not ideas which '• associate,' but the elementary pro- 
cesses of which ideas are composed. And secondly, the connec- 
tion is not well described by the term 'association,' which implies 
a mere juxtaposition of things which remain, after they have been 
placed together, precisely what they were before. 

The expression has come down to us from a psychology which 
did regard ideas and their connection in the way indicated : which 
took the idea of a pen or an inkstand to be something just as 
stable and clearly outlined as the pen or the inkstand itself, and 
looked upon the ' association ' of the two ideas as a mechanical 



§ 53- Simidtmieotis Association 191 

attachment of one bit of mind, one independent experience, to 
another. Although this theory is not held to-day, the phrase has 
gained such wide acceptance that it can hardly be banished from 
our psychological vocabulary. 

§ 53. Simultaneous Association. — Our first aim must be 
to get a clear understanding of the difference between the 
idea, or perception, and the simultaneous association of 
ideas. We shall do this most easily if we notice, first of 
all, the points in which the two processes are alike, and 
only after these are defined proceed to define that in which 
they differ. 

(i) As regards the elementary processes contained in 
them, no hard and fast line of distinction can be drawn 
between the perception or idea and the simultaneous asso- 
ciation of ideas. Both prove, when analysed, to be com- 
plexes of sensations. From this point of view the idea of 
an arm-chair (§ 43), which contains both visual and tactual 
elements, might just as well be described as a simultaneous 
association of those elements ; and the association of vis- 
ual picture and word in the instance of the traction engine, 
given in the preceding Section, might just as well be called 
a complete or perfect idea of the traction engine. If the 
two processes differ at all in composition, the difference is 
that the idea is simpler, contains fewer elementary pro- 
cesses, than the simultaneous association of ideas. But 
this rule has so many exceptions that we cannot safely 
follow it in distinguishing them. 

(2) Nor do the idea and the simultaneous association of 
ideas differ as regards the way in which their component 
processes are connected, grouped together in consciousness. 
The elements of taste, smell, touch and sight which are 
contained in the idea of lemonade are * associated ' in that 



192 The Association of Ideas 

idea, the elements of pressure and vision, or of pressure 
and audition (verbal local sign), which are contained in the 
tactual idea of locality, are ' associated ' in that idea, — just 
as, again, the visual picture and word are associated in our 
instance of simultaneous association. If the two processes 
differ at all in the connection of their elements, the differ- 
ence is that the elements in the idea are more closely and 
invariably associated than the elements of the simultaneous 
association. But this rule, again, has many exceptions. 
The elements of touch and vision in the idea of an arm- 
chair are not more closely connected with each other than 
with the verbal idea * arm-chair.' Yet touch and vision 
together give us an idea ; the same elements phts the 
verbal idea, a simultaneous association of ideas. 

(3) The difference between the two j^rocesses, then, 
lies neither in the part-processes which they contain, nor 
in the manner in which these components are grouped 
together. It must be sought elsewhere. Put briefly, it is 
this : that the elementary processes in the idea are pro- 
cesses which have never before been in connection with 
others, whereas the elementary processes in the simultane- 
ous association of ideas have already played a part in 
some idea. The idea is the concrete mental process 
which stands nearest to bare sensation : it is in the idea 
that the organism makes its first conscious adjustment to 
the natural world. The difference between the sensation 
which has not, and the sensation which has, taken part in 
this conscious adjustment is not a difference of quality or 
intensity, extent or duration. It is only that the one is 
raw material ; the other the same material after it has been 
turned to account by the organism for some practical 
purpose. The one means nothing : it does not acquire a 



§ 53- Simultaneous Association 193 

meaning until it has entered into an idea ; for it is not the 
bare sensation, but the idea, which corresponds to an 
object or process in the physical world, and signifies 
this object or process to the organism. The other is 
significant : it brings a meaning with it, because it has, at 
some time or other, formed part of an idea or perception, 
i.e.^ of the conscious representative of a physical object 
or physical process. The sensation which has been associ- 
ated in the past, is ready to fall anew into associative con- 
nections ; the sensation which has never been associated, 
has to find its place, so to speak, in the course of experi- 
ence. Or again : the sensation which enters into an idea 
is the sensation which we obtain by scientific analysis, the 
independent simple process of Chapter II ; the sensation 
which enters into a simultaneous association of ideas is 
the sensation as we get it approximately in laboratory 
experience (§ 17; cf. § 74), a process which has a habit, 
a liability to connect with other sensations in the future, 
as it has connected before. 

Two forms of simultaneous association are of especial 
interest. As they are at the same time typical of simul- 
taneous association in general, we may confine our discus- 
sion of the process to them. 

(i) When once an idea has taken shape, — whether it 
be the idea of locality or of rhythm, of form or of melody, 
— it is henceforth at the disposal of consciousness as a 
whole, as a total process. There is no need of its con- 
scious re-formation. However slowly we may have learned 
the fact that objects lie in space at a distance from us, and 
however many mistakes we made before the idea of dis- 
tance was fully formed, we now have it as part of our 

mental furniture, ready for use upon all occasions. And 
o 



194 'TJie Association of Ideas 

the same is true of all the kinds of idea discussed in the 
foregoing chapter. 

It will often happen, then, that when an impression, a 
complex of stimuli, is presented to the organism, the 
appearance of the corresponding idea in consciousness 
arouses some one or other of these available ideas, which 
joins with the given idea and supplements it. The per- 
ception or idea, itself significant of some external object 
or process, is thus set in its proper place in our conscious 
plan or map of the physical world ; it is arranged among 
our existing stock of perceptions or ideas, and brought 
into connection with them. In such cases we speak of 
the associative stipplementing of an idea. Associative sup- 
plementing is the first sub-form of simultaneous association. 

Let us take, by way of illustration, our idea of the distance of 
an object from our own body. This idea was originally formed 
from sensation processes, whether sensations of strain from the 
muscles of the eyeball, or retinal sensations, or both together 
(§44). As bare sensations, these processes were meaningless; 
they acquired significance only when combined in the idea. 

But when we are judging distance, in adult life, we are not con- 
cerned to notice the formative sensations of the original distance 
idea. An object is before us, and our perception of it as an object 
is at once associatively supplemented by the idea of its distance. 
Thus (i) if the object is small, we regard it (other things equal) 
as remote : the smaller a thing looks, the farther off must it be. 
The idea of size is here associatively supplemented by that of dis- 
tance. (2) If the distribution of lights and shades upon the 
surface of the object is of a certain kind, its perception is supple- 
mented, in just the same way, by an idea of distance. A theatre 
stage may be made to appear much deeper than it really is, if the 
lights and shades are skilfully distributed upon back-scene and 
side-pieces. (3) If the object is indistinct, its outlines blurred, 
the idea of remoteness comes up at once to supplement it. The 



§ 53- Sinmltancoiis Association 195 

less clear a thing is, the farther off is it, other things equal. (4) 
If there are a large number of objects intervening between our- 
selves and the object at which we are looking, the idea of re- 
moteness is again associated to it. (5) And if, as we pass rapidly 
through a landscape, e.g., as we sit in a railway carriage, an object 
flashes quickly by us, we know at once that it is near ; if it glides 
by slowly, we know that it is distant. The perception is associ- 
atively supplemented, so that it makes way for a simultaneous 
association of ideas. 

So close is the connection in these cases between the given idea 
and the idea which supplements it, that we are apt to lose sight 
of the way in which this supplementary idea was originally formed, 
and to look upon it as the direct consequence of the other. 
Really, of course, the supplementary idea must have previously 
taken shape, — or it could not now be associated to the given idea. 
We could not say : " See how clearly the trees stand out upon 
that hill ! It can't be more than two or three miles off" unless we 
had the idea of distance at our disposal, before we noticed the 
clearness of the impressions. Clearness of outline is one of the 
original factors in the idea of form (§ 45); it is not a factor in 
the idea of distance. The exclamation involves an association of 
two ideas, of form and of distance. 

There is no department of perception which does not furnish 
instances of associative supplementing. We perceive at once that 
a drawing in perspective is intended to represent an arrangement 
of objects in tridimensional space. We accept the rough brush- 
marks of a theatrical background as an adequate representation of 
a landscape. — How little we actually hear of what is said to us is 
shown by the difficulty which we find in understanding a conversa- 
tion in a foreign language, with which we are familiar only in its 
written form. We must wait till we are able to supplement the 
sounds heard, to supply by association the slurred and abbreviated 
syllables which the ear does not 'catch.' — When we are 'feeling' 
our way across a room in the dark, and come into contact with a 
hard object, we say at once : "That is the table ! " The tactual 
perception, incomplete as it is, calls up a visual idea and its ver- 
bal expression. — The scent of sandalwood is supplemented by the 



196 TJie Association of Ideas 

visual idea of a glove box or stamp case of sandalwood inlaid with 
ivory ; the smell of roasting meat by the visual picture of the ' laid ' 
dinner table ; and so on. 

Method. — One of the commonest instances of associative sup- 
plementing is the right reading of words wrongly spelled. Even a 
practised proof-reader may overlook mistakes in very famihar 
words (§ 42). On the other hand, the misprints in a book which 
is written in a language not so familiar to us as our own attract our 
attention at once. We read English by general impression, sup- 
plementing what we see as we glance quickly over the printed 
words ; we read German or French more accurately, because 
more slowly and toilsomely. 

These facts suggest a method by which the conditions and attri- 
butes of associative supplementing may be investigated. Let an 
assistant prepare a number of cards, upon each of which is written 
a one-syllable word, more or less misspelled. For stage, e.g., he 
might take the following : siage, slave, seaye, seaue, etc. Series of, 
say, ten cards are formed. The larger part of these have mis- 
spelled words: i-/^^*? (stage), work (work), qtace (place), etc. 
To avoid the expectation error, however, one or two rightly 
spelled words must be included in each series. You are shown 
the ten cards, one at a time, for .2 to .5 sec, and required to read 
what is written on them. 

To get at the conditions of the association in these cases, you 
must subject your results to a careful analysis : noting whether the 
familiarity of the word has anything to do with its supplementing, 
whether its form is of importance, whether first or last letters, 
vowels or consonants, long or short letters, etc., are most easily 
supplied. 

The atti'ibtUes — extent and intensity — of the association can 
be determined by the assistant, if enough experiments are made. 
Thus, by varying the amount of the misspelling, as in the instance 
of stage given above, he can discover how extensive the alteration 
of the word may be, and yet be overlooked by the eye, — how 
many letters may be wrong while the word is still read aright by 
association. He can further determine the intensity of the supple- 
menting, either by questioning you closely as to the vividness of 



§ 53- Siviidtaneoiis Association 197 

the letters which you say you saw, or by increasing the time of 
exposure till you are just able to read the misspelled word cor- 
rectly, that is, till the peripheral impression just outweighs the cen- 
tral supplement. The latter is the more reliable method. The 
quality of the associated ideas is always that of the given impres- 
sion : black letters on a white ground. Their duration can hardly 
be made out. 

Auditory Localisation. — Some of the most striking instances 
of associative supplementing are afforded by the localisation of 
sounds. Sensations of tone and noise possess no spatial attribute, 
and our auditory perceptions cannot be arranged in space, as 
visual and tactual perceptions can. When we localise sounds, we 
do so by indirect means, by the help of secondary criteria. The 
auditory perception must be supplemented by other ideas. 

Our idea of the direction in which a sound comes to us is based 
partly upon tactual sensations, proceeding from the skin and 
muscle of the external and middle ear, and partly upon the dif- 
ferences in the intensity of the sound, as it is heard by the two 
ears. A sound which comes from the right will evidently be 
louder to the right ear than to the left ; while the impact of air- 
waves upon the right pinna will be the stronger, and the adjust- 
ment of the right tympanic membrane the more noticeable. Our 
idea of the distance of the sound is an idea of the distance of the 
source of sound, i.e., a visual or tactual — not auditory — idea of 
distance. 

Method. — Seat yourself in a chair, and let an assistant chalk 
upon the floor a circle of i m. radius, whose centre is the centre of 
the imaginary line joining your two ears. The circumference of 
the circle can easily be marked off into 72 parts, i.e., into units 
of 5°. Close your eyes. The assistant tests the accuracy with which 
you can localise sounds coming to you from different directions by 
holding a stop-watch, on a level with your ear, at various points of 
the circumference of the circle. Having taken up his position, 
he touches you upon the hand with a rod, and starts the watch. 
You hear its ticking, and point with another rod in the direction 
from which you think the sound comes. 



198 The Association of Ideas 

If you close one ear with cotton-wool, you will find that your 
mistakes will be much larger than they are when both ears are 
open. You have no longer the different intensities of the ticking, 
as heard by the two ears, to guide you in localising it. 

It is always easier to say whether a sound comes from the 
right or the left, than to say whether it comes from in front or 
behind. In the first case you have different tactual sensations 
and different intensities of sound in the two ears to assist your 
judgment ; in the latter you can judge only from the absolute in- 
tensity of the sound. A sound in front is generally louder than a 
sound behind, because it is caught by the pinnae, and reflected 
into the ear-passages. Hence if you tie your ears back, by a piece 
of tape, and place your two hands in front of the ear-passages, the 
palm facing backwards, you will find your ordinary judgments of 
^ before ' and ' behind ' reversed. The two hands act as two 
pinnae ; but being turned in the opposite direction, they catch 
sounds coming from behind, and reflect them into the ear-passage, 
while they cut off sounds coming from in front. What before was 
loud, and therefore in front, is now weak, and therefore behind, and 
vice versa. 

Our idea of the distance of a sound is accurate only when the 
source of sound is familiar, when we know by experience how far 
off the body must be to give rise to the sound which we hear. If 
the perception is unfamiliar, we may make ludicrous mistakes. 

(2) The other form of simultaneous association — a 
form of extreme importance in the adult consciousness — 
is word association. The verbal idea contains both exten- 
sive and qualitative elements: in its most perfect form it 
consists of an auditory complex, a mixture of clang and 
noise (word heard), a strain complex due to the adjust- 
ment of larynx and mouth necessary for the emission of a 
particular sound (vv^ord spoken), a visual complex, a written 
or printed form (word seen), and the strain complex due to 
the adjustment of hand and fingers necessary for the pro- 



§ 53- Simtiltaneous Association 199 

duction of this form (word written). The part played by 
the verbal idea in consciousness, under one or more of 
these four aspects, is always large, although its actual 
range differs with different mental constitutions (§ 35). 

The verbal idea serves two purposes in simultaneous 
association. It may arise before associative supplement- 
ing is at an end. In this case, it aids materially in the 
supplementing, — sometimes, indeed, rendering all further 
supplements unnecessary. Or it may arise just as the 
supplementing is concluded, and clinch the association, 
putting the seal of finality upon it. In the latter case, it 
is oftentimes difficult to say whether the process is a simul- 
taneous or a successive association. 

The verbal idea of a given consciousness does not contain all 
four elements (word heard, spoken, seen and written) in equal 
proportions. It resembles the note rather than the chord ; one 
constituent predominates in the complex. Sometimes the sound 
heard is all that comes to mind : more often the word as heard 
and spoken. If the visual form is aroused, it nearly always brings 
the auditory idea with it. The writing-complex hardly ever occurs 
without the visual form, and therefore hardly ever without the audi- 
tory idea also. In every case, some one of the four components 
is predominant. 

Method. — To test the power of the verbal idea as an aid in 
associative supplementing, a method may be followed similar to 
that described in the previous paragraph. Rough drawings, mere 
hints of the objects which they are intended to represent, are 
prepared. A word is called out to the subject, and then one of 
the drawings shown him, — a drawing of something closely related 
to the object denoted by the word called out. He supplements 
the drawing, by help of the verbal association, and so ' sees ' a 
great deal more than is actually upon the cardboard. 

Or the original method may be followed still more exactly. 
Let us suppose that the extent of associative supplementing has 



200 The Association of Ideas 

been determined, by means of a series of misspelled words. 
Similar series are again presented to the subject ; but before 
each word is shown, a word related to that which the complex 
of letters is intended to represent is called out. Associative sup- 
plementing will go much farther than it did before. Without 
the verbal association, siaye may have been the most mutilated 
impression which could be read as stage. But if consciousness 
has been given the right direction by the calling out of the word 
' theatre,' a form like aioye may be supplemented to stage. 

Instances of the power of the verbal idea to clinch or cement 
associative supplementing will be readily furnished from the 
reader's own experience. A striking illustration is that of the 
recognition (§ 70) of a friend, who has not been seen for some 
time, and whom one meets unexpectedly. The visual picture is 
supplemented by a number of ideas (ideas of past meetings, their 
circumstances, etc.) ; but the recognition does not become abso- 
lute and final until the phrase : " Why, it's Brown ! " has come 
to one's lips or mind. It can be shown experimentally that those 
objects are best remembered and most easily recognised which 
can be denoted by specific names (§ 73). 

Illusions. — Just as we have illusory ideas, ideas which repre- 
sent an object or process of the physical world in a way which 
the measuring eye cannot accept, so do we have illusory associa- 
tions of ideas. A given impression is supplemented, or calls up 
a verbal idea, under certain conditions ; when these are reduced 
to standard conditions, the association proves to have put an 
erroneous interpretation upon the impression. 

It is frequently impossible to disentangle, with any degree of 
certainty, the two possible factors in a particular illusion. It may 
be due to the structure or mode of working of a sense-organ : 
then we have an illusory perception or idea in the strict meaning 
of the phrase. But the illusion may also be due to associations. 
Take, for instance, the two semicircles of Fig. 8. The closed 
figure may suggest a strung bow, and the open an unstrung bow ; 
and the illusion of their difference may result from this associative 
supplement, and not directly from eye movement. Or take the 



§ 53- Simultaneous Association 201 

apparently simple illusion of the greater height of a square figure. 
This overestimation of the vertical lines may be due to the diffi- 
culty of eye movement in the upward direction. But it may also 
be ascribed to associative supplementing. The square is not 
broad-based enough to suggest a block of stone lying upon the 
ground ; that which is to give us the idea of rest must be longer 
than it is high, — must resemble the prostrate figure of a man. 
The square seems to be striving upwards, to be raising itself, and 
to be ' holding itself together,' squeezing itself in, in the effort. 

Stroboscopic illusions, again, might be occasioned by the per- 
sistence of after-images, without any associative supplementing of 
the photographs. But they are greatly assisted if we have a clear 
idea of the sort of movement which we are going to see, before 
we look through the sHts in the cylinder. 

But while many illusions can be regarded either as illusory 
ideas or as illusory associations of ideas, there are some which 
undoubtedly have their source in association alone. Thus, the 
sun and moon look smaller to us when they are directly above 
our heads, at the zenith, than when they are in front of us, at the 
horizon. It is difficult to see any reason for this illusion in the 
structure or function of the eyes. On the other hand, ( i ) the out- 
line of the discs is more distinct at the zenith than at the horizon, 
because there is less air between them and us, and what there is 
is clearer, less misty and smoky. Hence they seem to be nearer. 
And (2) there are many objects — trees, houses, hills — between 
ourselves and the horizon ; none between us and the zenith. 
Again, then, the bodies seem to be nearer. But if a nearer and 
a remoter object occupy the same space in the field of vision, the 
former must be smaller than the latter. 

The same holds of certain illusions which involve qualitative 
ideas. The ventriloquist ' throws ' his voice into some inanimate 
object at a distance from him. To produce the illusion at which 
he aims, he keeps his lips as far as possible unmoved during 
articulation, raises or lowers his voice beyond its natural speaking 
pitch, and looks steadfastly at the object to which he wishes the 
sounds to be referred. The listener knows that he is being de- 
ceived ; but the illusion may be so complete that it cannot be 



202 TJie Association of Ideas 

wholly destroyed except by the visual perception that the muscles 
of the performer's throat are twitching, although his lips are still. 

Illusions of melody are similarly produced. When we are wait- 
ing for the passage of a circus procession, we * hear ' the music 
of the band in the distance many times over, before it actually 
comes within the range of audition : some chance sound is as- 
sociatively supplemented, and so takes the form of a familiar 
melody. 

§ 54. Successive Association. — We found only a single 
difference between the idea or perception and the simul- 
taneous association of ideas : the difference that the ele- 
mentary processes contained in the idea had never before 
been connected with others, while the elementary pro- 
cesses contained in the simultaneous association had 
already played a part in some idea. The same difference 
holds between the idea and the successive association of 
ideas. But there is a further distinction, which enables 
us to mark off the successive association both from the 
idea and from the simultaneous association, — the distinc- 
tion which is expressed by the word ' successive.' We 
cannot indicate any stages in the formation of the idea ; 
when certain conditions, physical and mental, are realised, 
the idea emerges, takes shape at once. Nor can we indi- 
cate any stages in the formation of the simultaneous asso- 
ciation ; we no sooner hear the noise, than the visual 
picture of the traction engine comes up ; there is no 
* before ' and ' after ' in the experience. In the successive 
association, on the other hand, there is a clearly marked 
division of the whole process into stages; an idea arises, 
and tJien another idea is connected with it. 

There are two principal forms of successive association : 
the train of ideas and association after disjunction. The 



§ 54- Successive Association 203 

former corresponds to the associative supplementing, the 
latter to the verbal association of § 53. 

(i) In the train of ideas we have a continuous series of 
processes, idea following idea along the line of least 
mental resistance, without restriction of any kind. Ideas 
come and go, as they come and go in the ' inattentive ' 
consciousness of the child or the animal (§ 40) ; there is no 
concentration, no converging of tendencies ; consciousness 
is conditioned by the accidents of the moment. This 
form of successive association appears whenever we fall 
into a reverie, or grow drowsy, or give ourselves up to the 
influence of our surroundings, — setting out on a country 
walk, e.g., with all thoughts of the routine of daily occupa- 
tion banished from our minds. 

Method. — The course which the train of ideas follows in dif- 
ferent consciousnesses may be tested by experiment. Series of 
words are prepared, care being taken that the words forming a 
particular series differ as much as possible in meaning and char- 
acter ; thus, two verbs should not be placed side by side, some 
substantives should be abstract and some concrete, etc. The 
words may be printed on cards, which are shown to the subject 
in succession, or may be merely pronounced by the experimenter ; 
in the former case the time of exposure must be kept constant 
and must be short, — say, about 2 sec. After each word has 
been presented, a pause of some 10 sec. is made, during which 
the subject writes down the ideas which the word has suggested to 
him, i.e., which have been associated to it in his consciousness in 
the 10 sec. 

The experiments may be made individually, upon a single sub- 
ject, or collectively, upon a number of individuals. In either 
case, the results must be carefully analysed, at the conclusion of 
the series, by experimenter and experimentee. The subject must 
go over his list of written associations, noting (i) the sense 
department from which each idea was drawn, (2) the period of 



204 The Association of Ideas 

life to which it belongs, and (3) the idea which suggested it. 
The experimenter must then, in his turn, work over the list, 
noting (i) the relative quickness and readiness of association in 
different individuals, or in the same person under different circum- 
stances, and (2) the various kinds of association involved, — the 
association of one general or particular idea to another (co-ordina- 
tion), of a particular idea to a general (subordination), and of a 
general idea to a particular (superordination). 

Suppose, e.g., that the first word of a printed series was the 
word horse. One list of associations, within the 10 sec, might 
read as follows : horse, Prince, heels, stable, strata, cow, dog. The 
subject would analyse this list, at the conclusion of the series of 
experiments, somewhat in this way : — 

(i) horse : auditory idea ; present time ; suggested by the written 
horse ; a simultaneous association (verbal associa- 
tion) : 

(2) Prince : mainly visual, idea of a particular horse ; childhood ; 

suggested by horse (successive) : 

(3) heels : mainly visual, idea of a particular incident connected 

with Prince; childhood ; suggested by Prince 
(successive) : ^~ 

(4) stable : visual and olfactory ; childhood ; suggested by Prince 

(seemed to arise simultaneously with heels') : 

(5) straw: visual; childhood; suggested by i'/^/^/*? (successive): 

[here the train of ideas switched off from the Prince associations, 
and the original idea (visual and auditory) of horse came to mind :] 

(6) cow : general idea, auditory (verbal) and visual ; no time refer- 

ence ; suggested by hoi^se (successive) : 

(7) ^^S' general idea, auditory (verbal) and visual; no time refer- 

ence ; seemed to be suggested by cow, though pos- 
sibly due to horse. 

From a large number of series, worked over in this way, we 
can discover how much the different sense-organs contribute to 
the furnishing of a particular mind with ideas, how observant and 
retentive the mind is, and how far it is accustomed to pursue 



§ 54- Successive Association 205 

a single topic without allowing itself to be interrupted by irrelevant 
ideas. 

The experimenter now takes the same list, and notes that 
Prince is a particular idea associated to a general idea, ho7-se 
(subordinate) ; that heels, in the same way, is subordinate to 
Pj'ince ; and that straw is subordinate to stable. The three ideas 
of horse, cow, and dog are co-ordinate. The relation of stable to 
F?'ince is doubtful : the two may be co-ordinate, or stable may be 
superordinate, — the home of a series of particular horses. By 
calculating the proportions of the three types of association in 
a large number of experiments, the experimenter can ascertain 
the way in which the subject ordinarily thinks, i.e., his intellectual 
constitution (§ 35). He also notes that in this case there were 
seven ideas aroused in the 10 sec. {^Prince, heels, stable, straw, 
horse, cow, dog). 

(2) Association after disjunction consists, as its name 
implies, in the coming together again of ideas which were 
originally together, but have somehow become separated. 
The best illustration of this form of successive association 
is the connection of auditory ideas in the sentence. The 
whole 'thought,' i.e., complex of ideas, which the sentence 
expresses must form part of our consciousness, however 
vaguely, before we begin to speak ; otherwise we could 
not carry the sentence to its conclusion without hesitation 
and mistake. 

The disjunction is due to the attention; the rejoining is 
a successive association. Suppose that I say to myself : 
** That chord contains the notes c, e, g\ " The chord is 
given as a total impression ; it is a complex of simultane- 
ously sounding tones. But the attention fixes for some 
reason (§ 38) upon one of the constituent tone complexes, 
the note c. This is rendered prominent and distinct, 
while the remaining constituents are blurred and weak- 



2o6 The Association of Ideas 

ened. The impression is thus spUt up, its components 
dissociated. The attention soon relaxes from its first 
object, and the other two notes receive, in turn, their 
share of notice. The whole complex is thus reviewed, 
part by part, and put together again in the sentence : '' It 
contains the notes ^, e, g'' 

The successive association in this and similar instances has the 
character of completeness or finality {cf. the verbal association 
of § 53). The * thought ' is complete when a certain number of 
words have been uttered ; the chord is done with when the three 
constituent notes have been re-associated ; the melody is com- 
plete when a certain number of chords have sounded. The final- 
ity is a necessary consequence of the fact that the association is 
based upon a foregoing ' dissociation ; the whole is given before 
its parts are discerned \ the associative process comes to its nat- 
ural end when the dissociated parts have been put together again. 
The train of ideas, on the other hand, is absolutely lacking in 
finality; it never dies a natural death, but must be violently 
interrupted, if it is to come to a conclusion. 

It must not be supposed, however, that the association after 
disjunction is a mere putting together of what has been pulled 
apart, of the original raw material. The attention, in singling 
out some factor in the original complex, renders it more promi- 
nent and therefore more liable to be associatively supplemented. 
The parts which are put together again, by way of successive 
association, are put together only after they have been modified, 
worked over, by way of simultaneous association. If I swallow 
a draught of lemonade, and, finding it very sweet, say : " How 
sweet this stuff is ! " I am not simply putting together sweetness 
and the other constituent lemonade-processes as they were given 
in the original idea. The sweetness has attracted the attention ; 
it has been disjoined from its surroundings, and supplemented 
by ideas of the right amount of sweetness, by sensations of nau- 
sea, etc. We have no longer a single idea, containing the ele- 
ment * very sweet ' ; we have two ideas, a successive association 



§§ 54> 55- Successive Association ; Law of Association 207 

of ideas, — the original idea having been followed by the worked- 
over idea of sweetness. In the same way, the statement of a 
scientific theory is not a simple re-collection of facts which have 
been presented together, but separately attended to : it is the 
re-collection of these facts after they have been associatively 
supplemented, i.e., referred to their conditions. 

Psychologically regarded, all instances of judgment fall under 
this second heading of successive association. Take, e.g., the 
judgment: "The waste-paper basket is under the table." Here 
we have an original whole, a visual complex including local ideas 
of basket and table. The two constituents are disjoined by the 
attention, and reunited after the idea of position has been made 
explicit. Or suppose that we walk into a strange village and 
say : " That must be the hotel ! " We have a visual complex, 
the idea of a certain house, from which the attention dissociates 
all the hotel-like elements. These are supplemented, and form 
the hotel idea, which succeeds the original house-hotel complex. 

Method. — To test the formation of successive associations of 
this type, the following plan may be adopted. Show the subject, 
for a short time, a complex visual impression, — the picture of a 
street or ceremony or landscape, — an impression, i.e., which is 
too complicated to be grasped by one pulse of the attention. 
Let him then write a description of it, trying to reconstruct it 
as a whole, and putting down his ideas in the order in which they 
occur to him ; that is, in the order in which the various parts of 
the picture attracted his attention. As he writes, more and more 
ideas will occur to him ; so that the process of reconstruction 
will take the form of a successive association. 

A train of illusory ideas is termed a hallucination. Hallucinations 
do not occur in the normal mind. We have instances of them in 
dreaming and in the visual phantasies of alcoholic delirium. Illu- 
sory judgments are \.^xv(\^A fallacies , when formed in a normal con- 
sciousness ; delusiotis, when they appear as a symptom of insanity. 

§ 55. The Law of Association. — The fundamental law of 
the association of ideas may be stated in almost the same 



2o8 The Association of Ideas 

words as those which we used in accounting for the sin- 
gleness or unity of the idea. What the organism finds 
together in the world in which it lives, we said, remains 
together in perception or idea. But one and the same 
kind of elementary mental process may be concerned in 
many different adjustments to physical surroundings, and 
will therefore have a tendency to connect with processes 
which form part of many different ideas. This fact is the 
key to association. )^// the connections set tip betzveen sen- 
sations by tJie formation of ideas tend to persist, even when 
the original conditions of connection are no longer fulfilled. 

Let us apply this law to the four cases of association which we 
have described. 

(i) Associative Stipplementiftg. — Here we have a complex of 
sensations, abc, some or all of which have been connected, in past 
experience, with other elementary processes, xyz. Hence, when- 
ever ab or abc appears, xyz tends to appear with it. 

A rumbling noise, abc, is heard. Our idea of a heavy vehicle 
includes, as part-processes, the noise, abc, and a complex of visual 
sensations, xyz. Hence as the noise is heard, the visual complex 
is aroused also ; the noise is supplemented by the other compo- 
nents of the idea of a heavy vehicle. 

Or we have the idea of a clearly outlined hill, abc. Our idea 
of nearness, xyz, has been connected, in past experience, with the 
idea of clearness of outline, ab. Hence when we see the hill, abc, 
we have at once the idea of its nearness : ab\^c'] is supplemented 
by xyz. 

(2) Verbal Association. — Verbal association takes place in 
precisely the same way as associative supplementing. The only 
reasons for separating the two processes are, first, that the verbal 
idea is the most important of all the supplementary ideas, — some- 
times, indeed, as in the instance of a verbal Mocal sign' (§ 44), 
rendering all further supplement unnecessary, — and secondly, 
that the verbal association is on the boundary line between the 



§ 55- ^^^^ Law of Association 209 

simultaneous and the successive association, {a) The word is 
important because it is, so to speak, the common denominator 
of all ideas alike ; words are the medium by which we communi- 
cate ideas to one another, whatever the ideas may be. Hence 
the verbal idea is the richest of all ideas in habits of connection ; 
it has the greatest tendency to associate, as well as the greatest 
range of association. At the same time, it is the word which, as 
the single expression of a complex of sensations, gives definite- 
ness or finahty to that complex, {b) That verbal association lies 
on the border-line between the simultaneous and the successive 
forms of association is shown by the two instances of the traction 
engine and the hotel. Had the noise been a little less definite in 
its suggestion, we might have thought for a moment, and come to 
the conclusion that it was due to a traction engine (successive 
association). Had the village hotel been a little more definite 
in its suggestion, a little more clearly a hotel, the word ' hotel ' 
might have arisen in our minds as soon as we saw the building 
(simultaneous association). 

We may refer to our first illustration. The noise abc has 
aroused the visual complex, xyz. The words ' traction engine,' 
which we may represent by pqr, have been constantly connected 
with this visual complex. Hence given abc, and we have ahcxyz ; 
given xyz, and we have xyzpqr. Given the noise, and we have 
visual picture and name of the vehicle. 

(3) The Train of Ideas. — This is easily reduced to the same 
formula. The written word horse is supplemented by the audi- 
tory idea of horse ; abc becomes abcxyz. But there are some 
elements, x, common to my ideas of horse and of Prince ; on 
the one hand I have abcxyz, on the other, say, xdef. When the 
former is given, therefore, the latter comes up. But again, there 
are elements, /, common to my idea of Prince and to my idea 
of stable ; on the one hand I have xdef, on the other, ?>:x.y,fgh. 
When the former is given, therefore, the latter comes up. And 
so on. 

(4) Association after Disjunction. — We have a complex, abed. 
This is divided up by the attention into ab and cd. The former 
is supplemented to abxy, the latter to cdjyq. We then have the 



2IO The Association of Ideas 

successive association ab\_cd'\xy-\ab'\cdpq ; the two supple- 
mented ideas associate, because of the association of abed in the 
original complex. — Or we have the original complex, abed. Some 
one part-process, r, attracts the attention, and is supplemented. 
We then have the successive association abcd-exy. 

The chord e-e-g is given. It is divided up into its three notes, 
and each of the notes is supplemented by a word, the name of the 
note. The three notes are then associated, the ground of their 
connection lying in the fact of their having been together in the 
chord. — Or a hot room is given, and the heat attracts the atten- 
tion. The heat-idea is supplemented, and this supplemented idea 
associated to the whole complex. 

We can, then, express the law of association by the formula 
ab — be. One idea calls up another when it contains elements 
which are common to it and that other. Connections once 
formed (be^ tend to persist even when the conditions of their 
formation are not realised (when only ab is given). 

All connections set up between sensations by the for- 
mation of ideas tend to persist. It is the business of 
psychology to discover under what conditions they actu- 
ally do persist, — why it is that now this and now that 
idea is associated to the same impression. The conditions 
of persistence are partly external and partly internal. On 
the one hand freqiteney of association in the outside world 
assures stability of connection in consciousness ; on the 
other, our mental constittitio7i decides what shall be the 
line of least associative resistance. In a given instance, 
these conditions may vary somewhat : the recency of an 
occurrence, e.g., may give it the same power, of connec- 
tion that it would have gained by frequent repetition, 
and the pleasantness or unpleasantness of an event, 
i.e., its hold over the attention, may give it the same 
power of connection that it would have possessed in its 



§ 55- ^^^<^ Lazv of Association 211 

own right had it appealed to our specific mental constitu- 
tion. 

Method. — The special conditions of the association of ideas 
in a particular consciousness at a particular time can be deter- 
mined only by a careful analysis of experimental results, carried 
out along the lines indicated in the foregoing Section. At present 
so few investigations have been made that it is hardly possible to 
say anything more than has been said, in general terms, in the 
text. Another method for testing the quickness of different 
associations will be described in Ch. XIV. 

In the older psychologies various laws of association were 
recognised : association by similarity, association by contiguity, 
association by cause and effect, etc. These are in reality not laws, 
in the true sense of the word, but sub-forms of one type of succes- 
sive association, — the train of ideas. If the association took the 
form abcd-bcde, it was called an association by similarity ; if it 
took the form abcd-axyz, an association by contiguity ; if axyz 
happened to be the effect of abed, an association by cause and 
effect. 

Thus suppose that the idea of ' Alexander the Great ' suggests 
that of * Napoleon.' This would have been called an association 
by similarity. But its formula evidently is : Alexander, general, 
conqueror, — Napoleon, general, conqueror. There is no new 
* law ' involved ; it is our own law ab-bc with the b elements pre- 
ponderant. Or suppose that the idea ' cow ' suggests that of ' milk- 
maid.' This would have been called an association by contiguity. 
But its formula is : cow, cow in field, cow being milked, — milk- 
maid, cow being milked. Again, there is no new law involved ; 
it is our law ab-bc, with the a and c elements preponderant. 

It is, then, a mistake to speak of these forms of association as 
' laws.' The mistake arose from the habit of considering ideas as 
permanent wholes, ' bits ' of mind, which were joined together 
as wholes. The fluidity of the idea, and all the facts of associa- 
tive supplementing, were unnoticed. 



212 The Association of Ideas 

Very little is known in detail of the physiological processes which 
correspond to the mental processes of association. We know that 
the more frequently any organ has been in action, the more easily 
is it set in action ; the tendency to act grows with action. We 
must suppose, further, that the tendency of two parts of the brain 
to act together grows with every instance of joint action. The 
supposition is borne out by what we know of the brain's mode of 
working. We shall return to the point in § 76. 



CHAPTER IX 

Feeling and Emotion 

§ 56. The Nature and Forms of Feeling. — Consciousness 
can never be wholly affective, to the exclusion of all sen- 
sation processes. This can be shown in two ways. On 
the one hand, consciousness is always complex, consists 
always of more than one elementary process. But the 
affection of any particular moment is a single affection ; 
however numerous the stimuli which are presented at that 
moment, their pleasantness or unpleasantness is one in 
our experience (§ 32). And as there are no 'mixed 
feelings,' no simultaneous associations of pleasantness 
and unpleasantness, there must be something besides 
affection present to constitute a consciousness. On the 
other hand, it follows at once from the definition of 
affection that an affective process cannot be the whole 
of consciousness. An affection is the conscious repre- 
sentative of the way in which the organism takes certain 
impressions. But there can be no way of taking unless 
there are impressions to take, — i.e., unless sensations are 
set up at the same time as the affection. 

Although, therefore, consciousness may very well con- 
sist solely of sensation processes, — ideas or connections 
of ideas which are of such slight intensity as not to excite 
pleasantness, or of so habitual occurrence as to have be- 
come indifferent, — no consciousness is exclusively affec- 

213 



214 Feeling and Emotion 

tive. Ideas can stand alone, without affection ; affection 
cannot stand alone, without the support of sensation or idea. 

The simplest concrete process in which affection pre- 
ponderates is th.Q. feeling. The feeling stands on the same 
level of mental development as the perception or idea ; 
it is in reality a complex process, composed of a perception 
or idea and affection, in which affection plays the princi- 
pal part. As a rule, the greater number of the constituent 
sensations are either indifferent, or but weakly pleasant 
or unpleasant, while a minority stand out distinctly as the 
supporters of an intense affection. Thus the feeling that 
arises when we cut our finger contains visual and cutane- 
ous sensations, which are indifferent ; the common sen- 
sation of pain, which stands out above these ; and a 
strongly unpleasant affection, which attaches to the 
pain. We term the feeling, in so many words, a 'feel- 
ing of pain.* And we say in the same way, that we 'feel 
warm,' 'feel tired,' ' feel thirsty,' 'feel giddy,' etc., naming 
the feeling in each case from the strongest sensation or 
group of sensations in the complex. 

The strongest sensation, it must be remembered, is not so 
strong as the affection. The fact can best be shown symboli- 
cally. It we denote sensation by s and affection by a, and fur- 
ther employ large and small letters to express different degrees 
of intensity in these processes, we can indicate the composition 
of the feeling by the formula ssA. 

The compound sS would then be an indifferent perception. 
We often have, in experience, sSa or sSa ; a complex in which 
the strongest sensation is stronger than the affection. In such 
cases, we speak not of a feeling, but of an ' affectively toned 
idea.' Suppose, e.g., that we cut our finger with a razor. We 
might be struck, at the moment, rather by the extreme sharp- 



§ 5 6. The Nature a7id Fonns of Feeling 215 

ness of the blade than by the pain of the wound. We should 
then have not a feeling of pain, but an unpleasantly toned idea 
of sharpness. 

Practically, it is not hard to draw the distinction between 
feeling and affectively toned idea ; the two are sufficiently well- 
marked in actual experience. In scientific analysis, however, 
they differ only in the amount of their affective constituent ; and, 
as we have no means of measuring this amount at all accurately, 
psychology can distinguish them only by the general statement 
that the feehng is more affection than it is idea, the affectively 
toned idea more idea than it is affection. 

We have noticed the fact that impressions which are 
frequently repeated become indifferent. The organism 
adapts itself to them, and their pleasantness or unpleasant- 
ness 'wears off.' It is an evident corollary to this that the 
ideas which are of greatest service to us as the sources of 
knowledge of the physical world, and which are therefore 
most often ' handled ' by us in acquiring or imparting 
knowledge, are least likely to play any large part in the 
formation of feelings. They become stereotyped, so to 
speak ; they are attended to not for their own sake, but for 
the sake of what they mean. They are, as a matter of 
fact, always in process ; their composition varies, and the 
relative intensity, duration, etc., of their components also 
change. But we take them for granted, supplementing 
them as the proof-reader supplements misspelled words 
(§ 53). And at the same time that we overlook slight 
changes in their contents, we lose the pleasantness or 
unpleasantness which once attached to them. 

There can be no question of the correctness of this corollary 
as regards sight and hearing. These two senses are in constant 
exercise ; sight for reading, and hearing for conversation, listening 
to lectures, etc. We are perfectly indifferent to the great major- 



2i6 Feeling and Emotion 

ity of the visual impressions which we receive in the course of a 
day. It is only when they are too strong, as when snow dazzles 
the eye, that they are markedly unpleasant ; and only by contrast, 
as ' restful ' or ' quiet,' that they are markedly pleasant. It is true 
that we speak of ' feeling blue,' ' feeling dull,' etc., and say that 
'things have a black look.' But these are metaphorical expres- 
sions, referring to the promise of bad weather in a lowering sky, 
etc. — Just the same thing holds of clangs and noises. 

But there seem to be important exceptions to the rule in cer- 
tain organic sensations (not in all: </ §§ 17, 44 ff.)j ^^^ i^ ^^ 
ideas founded upon smell and taste. So far are these ideas from 
being indifferent, that we ordinarily classify smells and tastes as 
agreeable and disagreeable, while the organic sensations are merged 
in the feelings of bodily comfort and discomfort. Yet all three 
are of frequent occurrence. 

The difficulty disappears when we consider the conditions under 
which the ideas and sensations in question arise, (i) Organic 
sensations give us knowledge of a very important part of the phys- 
ical world, our own body ; they are set up by some change within 
a bodily organ, not by any outside stimulus. Now a change in any 
of the principal organs must stand in intimate relation to the state of 
the nervous system ; and the state of the nervous system, anabo- 
lism or catabolism, is the physical condition of affection. Hence 
if the organic sensations attain to any considerable degree of 
intensity, we imist attend to them, and imist feel them to be 
pleasant or unpleasant. An organism which could disregard 
them would have carried its indifference too far, and would 
quickly perish. On the other hand, if the sensations are weak, 
they pass unremarked, i.e., are indifferent. — We have here, then, 
no real exception to the rule. Any intensive impression attracts 
the attention. The apparent exception is due to the fact that 
certain organic sensations, owing to the peculiar conditions under 
which they arise, attract the attention more forcibly and exclusively 
than do the sensations of sight and hearing. (2) Smells and tastes 
may become indifferent : the surgeon does not notice the smell of 
the dissecting room, the gardener the fragrance of the hothouse, 
the smoker the tobacco-laden air of his study ; and those whose 



§ $6. The Nature and Forms of Feeling 2iy 

diet is regular take their accustomed dishes day by day without 
thought of the pleasantness or unpleasantness of what they eat and 
drink. But smell and taste, like the organic sensations, occupy a 
peculiar position among the senses. In the first place, they are of 
extreme practical importance to the organism, standing guard as 
they do over respiration and digestion. Hence a small variation 
in a smell-taste complex, anything unfamiliar in a familiar setting, 
will attract the attention more quickly and forcibly than would a 
much larger difference in other sense departments. We cannot 
afford to neglect smells and tastes. Secondly, however, affections 
are often ascribed to smell and taste which really belong to the 
organic sensations. Thus, a meal may be very pleasant, despite 
the accustomedness of the dishes set before us. The pleasantness 
is in this case a digestive pleasantness, derived from the satisfac- 
tion of hunger ; but it may very well be referred to the ' appetis- 
ing ' smell and agreeable taste of the meats. 

It may be said, too, that smells, tastes and most of the organic 
sensations, familiar as they are, are not so entirely habitual as 
sights and sounds. They are not used as symbols for the recep- 
tion or imparting of general knowledge, as written and spoken 
words are. Where this is the case, where they are thought-coun- 
ters which can be passed from man to man, as coin is passed in 
exchange for goods of all kinds, they lose a large part of their 
intrinsic capacity to evoke affection. Thus the savage, who uses 
the sense of smell, much more frequently than civilised man, to 
gain knowledge of the outside world, is far less affected by the 
pleasantness or unpleasantness of odours. An attempt has been 
made, experimentally, to develope a smell-arithmetic ; and it has 
been found that simple additions and subtractions can be per- 
formed by the help of smell-ideas alone. If any one were to take 
the trouble to carry this arithmetic still further, there can be little 
doubt that the smells employed in it would grow entirely indif- 
ferent, — as indifferent as articular pressures. 

Touch, as might be expected, stands midway between these 
two groups of senses. The tactual differences of roughness and 
smoothness, stiffness and softness, dryness and wetness, etc., prove 
to be distinctly pleasant or unpleasant, if the attention is directed 



21 S Feclinz ctfid Emotion 



i> 



to them. Nevertheless, we touch a great many objects in the 
course of a day with complete indifference. 

The feeling is a mixture of perception and affection, in 
which the affection preponderates. Hence feelings can- 
not be satisfactorily classified except in terms of affection, 
the strongest part-process. Now there are only two quali- 
ties of affection : pleasantness and unpleasantness ; and 
there are, accordingly, only two kinds or classes of feel- 
ings : pleasant feelings and unpleasant feelings. But as 
very many different perceptions may enter into one class 
of feelings, there will be many shades or varieties of feel- 
ing within each class. Thus the feeling of warmth and 
the feeling of satiety are both pleasant feelings, feelings of 
the same kind ; but the difference of the sensation pro- 
cesses contained in them makes a difference in the whole 
feeling. Language, as we have seen, avails itself of such 
differences ; feelings are named after the strongest con- 
stituent sensation. 

It is often asserted that there are a great number of different 
feeling qualities ; that affective experience is as rich in qualities 
as sensible experience. It is rather true, as stated in the text, 
that there are only two quahties of feeling, — the qualities of 
pleasantness and unpleasantness ; but the complexity of sensible 
experience shows through the affective overlay in the various 
concrete feelings. The differences between feeling and feeling 
within each class are entirely due to differences in the quality 
of component sensations ; but as the predominant quality of the 
whole is an affective quality, these differences are — naturally, but 
quite wrongly — attributed to affection. The difference between 
the ' feeling of giddiness ' and the ' feeling of suffocation ' lies in 
their sensible factors, not in their affective constituents. They 
differ as giddiness and suffocation differ : as unpleasantness, they 
are the same. 



§ 57- '^^^^ Nature of Emotio7t 219 

We may speak of illuso7-y feelings, in the sense that there is 
an affective contrast observable when feelings of different kinds 
follow one another in consciousness. Affective contrast appears 
under the same conditions as sensation contrast. If a moderately 
pleasant is followed by a moderately unpleasant feeling, the un- 
pleasantness of the latter is intensified, and vice versa. Very 
weak feelings do not contrast : there is not enough affection 
present. And very strong feelings shake the nervous system too 
violently for contrast effects to be manifested. The criminal, 
reprieved from death, cannot realise his good fortune at first; 
he is merely dazed. 

§ 57. The Nature of Emotion. — The emotion stands 
upon the same level of mental development as the simul- 
taneous association of ideas. On the side of sensation, 
consciousness advances beyond the stage of a patchwork 
of perceptions or ideas; the- factors in different ideas run 
together and form larger wholes, each of which corre- 
sponds, not to an object or process, but to what we may 
call a siUiation or incident in the physical world. On 
the side of affection, consciousness advances beyond the 
simple feeling to the emotion. The organism does more 
than ' feel cold ' and ' feel unwell ' : it feels the pleasant- 
ness or unpleasantness of a certain total situation or pre- 
dicament, of the whole complex of ideas which represents 
a certain concurrence of processes or collocation of objects 
in the outside world. On the one hand, we have a rum- 
bling noise, interrupted by a shrill scream : these ideas 
are supplemented by the ideas of a child and a wagon : 
and the whole complex of ideas suggests at once that an 
accident has happened. On the other, this accident is 
felt, in its totality ; we have the emotion of pity or of fear. 

The conditions under which an emotion arises will, then, 
be somewhat as follows. We set out with a consciousness, 



220 Feeling and Emotion 

composed of a number of ideas, more or less distinct, and 
more or less pleasant or unpleasant. This consciousness 
is suddenly interrupted by an idea to which the attention 
is forcibly attracted (passive attention). The idea is 
immediately supplemented by other ideas, and a simulta- 
neous association is formed, reflecting a scene or situation 
in the physical world. The situation is of such a kind that 
the organism, in obedience to biological law, must feel it to 
be pleasant or unpleasant. At this stage we have, there- 
fore, a complicated feeling set in the midst of the original 
consciousness. The feeling is so powerful, however, that 
the original processes are now upon the verge of disap- 
pearance. 

An organism which is called upon to face a particular 
situation must do so by a particular bodily adjustment, a 
special bodily attitude or set of bodily movements. This 
adjustment is taking place at the same time that the com- 
plicated feeling, just described, is ousting the processes of 
which the original consciousness was composed. As it 
takes place, various organic sensations are set up, — the 
direct results of the changes in the position, tension, etc., 
of the various bodily organs involved. These organic 
sensations associate to the mass of ideas contained in the 
feeling, and together with that feeling constitute the 
emotion. 

It is essential, then, for the formation of an emotion : 
(i) that a train of ideas shall be interrupted by a vivid 
feeling ; (2) that this feeling shall mirror a situation or 
incident in the outside world; and (3) that the feeling 
shall be enriched by organic sensations, set up in the 
course of bodily adjustment to the incident. The emotion 
itself, as experienced, consists of a strong affection, and 



§ 5^. The Forms of Emotion 221 

a simultaneous association of ideas, some of the part- 
processes in which are always organic sensations. 

In adult life, an emotion is hardly ever found ^ pure ' ; con- 
sciousness is too complex, and the habits of connection formed 
by the part-processes in ideas too numerous. Thus the 'angry 
consciousness ' described in § 4 contains a good deal more than 
the pure emotion of anger. — The formation of an emotion occu- 
pies so short a time that it is impossible to experience separately 
the two stages depicted in the text. Feeling and bodily adjust- 
ment come together; their association is simultaneous. Logi- 
cally, and in primitive experience, the feehng comes first, and 
the adjustment afterwards. 

The feeling, which makes up the body of the emotion, differs 
somewhat in composition, according as it is pleasurable or un- 
pleasurable. The having of a pleasant experience means that 
the physical conditions are favourable to the arousal of a large 
number of ideas ; the having of an unpleasant experience, that 
they are unfavourable (§ 38). Hence, the feeling contained in 
a pleasurable emotion is extremely rich in ideas, while that con- 
tained in an unpleasurable emotion is comparatively poor. In 
joy, ideas crowd in upon us ; our thoughts fly hither and thither. 
In sorrow, we brood upon one narrow set of ideas. 

The importance of organic sensations as factors in emotion is 
shown in many current words and phrases which describe the 
emotive state. We are ' oppressed ' by care ; we ' cannot bear ' 
certain people ; we are ' cast down ' by bad fortune ; ' mortified ' 
(bruised or pounded) or ' exasperated ' (roughened) by a friend's 
conduct, etc. ' Anger ' means a choking or strangling, — a group 
of organic sensations which we now attribute rather to baffled or 
impotent anger than to anger itself. ' Fear ' is the state of mind 
(and body) of the way/^/rr/ etc. — Cf. also § 59. 

§ 58. The Forms of Emotion. — Just as there are two 
kinds or classes of feeling, so there are two of emotion : 
the pleasurable and the unpleasurable. Within each kind 
or class there are a large number of special emotive forms, 



222 Feeling and Emotion 

as there are a large number of special 'feelings.' Can we 
name these forms, and so classify emotions, as we classi- 
fied sensations and ideas ? Or must we be content with 
the general distinction of the two classes, as we were com- 
pelled to be in the case of feeling ? 

An emotion arises when a situation or predicament 
arises. If, then, we could ascertain the typical situations 
which an organism, placed in the world of nature, must 
face, — the simplest and most inevitable situations of the 
physical world, — we could determine the fundamental 
emotions. And we could then attempt to derive the other 
emotions from the standard emotions, and thus obtain a 
complete table of emotive forms. 

Although there is no reason to suppose that this prob- 
lem is insoluble, it has not yet been solved. Animal 
psychology and child psychology, the biological method 
and the method of introspection, have hitherto failed to 
give us an answer to it. All that can be done at present 
is to indicate one or two of l:he ways in which classification 
has been tried, with more or less of success, but with no 
final result. 

(i) Emotions fall into two great groups, as emotions of 
the present and emotions of the future. Thus hope is an 
emotion of the future, which may become an emotion of 
the present in the form of satisfaction (hope fulfilled) or 
disappointment (hope unfulfilled) or despair (hope de- 
ferred). Fear is an emotion of the future, which may 
become an emotion of the present either as alarm (fear 
fulfilled) or relief (fear unfulfilled) or suspense (fear 
deferred). 

(2) Emotions fall into two great groups, as subjective 
and objective emotions. The subjective emotions are 



r 



§ 58- The Forms of Emotion 223 

those in which the central feehng is made up principally 
of ideas about oneself; the objective emotions those in 
which the central feeling is made up principally of ideas 
derived from outside objects or processes. The most gen- 
eral forms of subjective emotion are joy and sorrow ; the 
most general forms of objective emotion, like and dislike. 
The objective emotions may be again subdivided, accord- 
ing as the object is a person or a thing. The most gen- 
eral forms of objective person-emotions are sympathy 
and antipathy ; the most general forms of objective thing- 
emotions are attraction and repulsion. Further, many of 
the subjective and objective emotions occur in a more sub- 
jective and a more objective form. Thus sorrow, a subjec- 
tive emotion, has a more objective form, care, and a more 
subjective form, melancholy. Antipathy, an objective 
emotion, has a more objective form, hatred, and a more 
subjective form, exasperation. 

There can be no such thing as an '■ emotion of indifference,' 
since there is no third affective qiiaUty, ' indifference.' But just as 
a feeling or an affectively toned idea may pass, in course of time, 
into an indifferent idea, — the affection * wearing off' with custom, 
— so a situation, which would naturally give rise to an emotion, 
may leave us indifferent. This state of indifference is due to the 
frequent repetition of a situation, to the conquering of natural by 
acquired tendencies. Every ' dangerous ' profession puts its fol- 
lowers in situations which would call up the emotion of fear in 
persons unaccustomed to them : no one could do off-hand what is 
constantly done by miners, sailors, steeple-jacks, etc. And a life 
of perpetual trouble blunts the susceptibilities. We have an 
instance of this in Tennyson's poem of * The Grandmother ' : — 

" You think I am hard and cold; 
But all my children have gone before me, I am so old : 
I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest." — 



224 Feeling and Emotion 

The indifference which Hes midway between joy and sorrow is 
called composure ; that which lies between like and dislike, un- 
concern. Sympathy and antipathy become apathy ; attraction and 
repulsion, insensibility. 

§ 59. The Expression of the Emotions. — By the ' expres- 
sion ' of an emotion we mean the bodily effects following 
from the change in the nervous system which is the physi- 
cal condition of the emotion. The various forms of emo- 
tive expression may be classified under four heads. 

(i) Since the core of every emotion is a vivid feeling, 
we shall expect to find in emotion all the bodily manifesta- 
tions of the simple affection. We find, as a matter of fact, 
that every emotion brings with it changes in pulse, respi- 
ration, volume and muscular strength. 

Method. — Suppose that the subject is in position, as described 
in § 33 (2). After a short time has elapsed, he is informed, say, 
that he may smoke. The pleasure of the unexpected news shows 
itself at once in the records of pulse, breathing and volume ; and 
if the dynamometer be squeezed while the cigar is being cut and 
lighted, it also gives evidence of the affective process. After 
another brief interval, the cigar is flicked out of the subject's mouth 
by the assistant, apparently as a practical joke. The resultant un- 
pleasantness is clearly marked upon the instruments. — The mani- 
festations of the emotions of pleased surprise and resentment are 
here identical with those of simple pleasantness and unpleasantness. 

(2) But the emotion is the conscious way of taking not 
an impression, but a situation, a number of simultaneous 
impressions ; and the situation is a far more serious matter 
to the organism than the separate impression. The bodily 
changes set up directly by the change in the nervous sys- 
tem are therefore more intensive and more far-reaching 
than those just mentioned : they extend beyond heart. 



§ 59- ^^^^ Expression of the Emotions 225 

lungs and voluntary muscle to the secretory organs and 
the other involuntary muscles. Thus in fear the skin is 
pale, the breathing shallow and hurried, the pulse weak 
and irregular, and the muscular strength diminished. At 
the same time, the salivary glands cease to act, so that the 
mouth and throat become dry ; the body is bathed in a cold 
sweat ; the bladder and intestine are affected (tendency to 
urination and diarrhoea) : while there is a ' sinking of the 
stomach ' with consequent nausea, a tremor of the whole 
body (shivering and goose-flesh), and an erection of hair 
due to the contraction of the unstriped muscles lying be- 
neath the skin. In the emotion of impotent rage there 
is a sensation of choking, and, oftentimes, a derangement 
of the liver. In grief we have an excessive action of the 
lachrymal glands. These bodily symptoms are less well 
marked in the case of pleasurable emotions ; though we 
find tears shed in moments of great joy, and a tendency to 
urination when the body is shaken by violent laughter. 

We cannot say anything very certainly of the physiological 
mechanism of these various manifestations of emotion. It is natu- 
ral that, when the organism is affected as a whole, the whole sys- 
tem of organs in which the vital functions are seated should show 
signs of the shock. But this ' naturalness ' does not account for 
the particular symptoms of particular emotions. 

(3) The organism has to * face ' the situation, by way of 
a bodily attitude. The reasons for the special forms of 
this attitude must be sought from biology. What concerns 
us here is the fact that we have in certain emotive expres- 
sions an illustration of the psychological law of associa- 
tion. For certain biological reasons, the frightened animal 
crouches down, the angry animal attacks the object of its 
anger, the startled animal leaps away from the unexpected 

Q 



226 Feeling and Emotion 

impression. In civilised life, some of these actions have 
become unnecessary, and others are partially inhibited by 
acquired tendencies. Nevertheless, the association of a 
definite group of organic sensations to the feeling which 
reflects a definite situation tends to persist. Although we 
do not crouch down, as if actually to hide ourselves from a 
stronger opponent, we do * shrink into ourselves ' when we 
are expecting censure or bad news ; although we do not 
attack when we are angry, we do clench the fist and brace 
ourselves as if in preparation to attack ; and although we 
do not leap away, we do 'jump ' or start when we are sur- 
prised. In the wince and brace and start we have sur- 
vivals of the primitive bodily adjustment by which the 
organism faced three typical ' situations ' ; and our emotion 
is not complete until the organic sensations aroused by 
them have been added to the mass of ideas contained in 
the central feeling. 

(4) When we speak, in ordinary conversation, of 
'expression,* we mean the expression of the face. The 
muscles of the face are arranged round three very im- 
portant sense-organs, the organs of vision, smell and taste, 
and their adjustment forms a part of the total bodily 
adjustment to all the many situations which appeal to 
those senses. But that is not all. It is a remarkable fact 
that the facial muscles contribute something to the expres- 
sion of emotions in which they are not directly concerned. 
Thus the injured man 'looks bitter'; i.e., looks as he would 
look were an unpleasantly bitter morsel placed upon his 
tongue. The disappointed man 'looks sour'; i.e., looks 
as he would if he had taken a sharply acid substance into 
his mouth. In surprise, the eyebrows are raised, as if to 
afford a free view of the surprising object ; and so on. 



§ 59- "^^^^ Expi'cssion of iJie Emotions 227 

In attempting to explain this transference of expression, 
— the association of what were originally reflex move- 
ments, made in response to definite sense stimuli, bitter, 
sour, etc., to an emotion which does not include the sensa- 
tions set up by those stimuli, — we must remember two 
things : that gesture was far more essential for the com- 
munication of ideas among primitive men than it is now, 
and that the primitive vocabulary was limited. To convince 
ourselves of the latter fact we have only to look at the 
derivation of abstract words : we find constantly that they 
contain a metaphor, i.e., that they originally designated 
something concrete. Thus black is 'that which is scorched ' ; 
an animal is ' that which breathes ' ; to explain is to * spread 
out' or Mevel.'' This means that complex states of mind, 
such as emotion, would be spoken of, at first, in a meta- 
phorical or partial way, and that the spoken word would 
be eked out by gesture. The metaphors employed would 
be taken from the familiar incidents of everyday life. 
The primitive hunter ' tasted ' success, in a very real way. 
The unsuccessful ' tasted ' life also, and found it bitter or 
sour. The mouth of a maiden is * sweet'; 'honey and 
milk are under her tongue.' The unpopular man 'stinks 
in the nostrils' of his tribesmen. We cannot 'see' the 
point of a remark, or the reason for an action. 

Whenever one of these metaphors came to mind, and 
still more certainly, whenever one of them came to the 
lips, the reflex expressive movements of the facial muscles 
would be set up. Certain part-processes in the central 
feeling suggest the metaphor ; the metaphor brings the 
bitter or sweet or surprised ' look ' with it ; and the ' look ' 
persists as a constituent in the total emotive expression, 
because of its original utility for the communication of 



J 



^ 



228 Feeling and Emotion 

ideas, and the consequent stability of its connection with 
the feehng. / 

Laughter. — Laughter consists of a certain play of feature, and 
of a series of long inspirations, each of which is followed by a 
number of abrupt expirations. It occurs under the most various 
conditions. We speak of it as sardonic, contemptuous, derisive, 
sympathetic, hysterical, joyous, etc. ; it expresses the sentiment 
of power; and it follows tickling and certain acute pains. No 
explanation which has as yet been offered is entirely satisfac- 
tory. 

(i) Some authorities regard the laughter which follows tickling 
as typical laughter. Tickling consists of intermittent light press- 
ures. Each pressure, it is said, sets up a reflex constriction of 
the small arterial blood-vessels of the body. When the arteries 
are constricted, the amount of blood pumped through them by 
the action of the heart is, of course, diminished. There is a close 
connection between the nerves governing the blood-vessels and 
the nervous centre which regulates breathing. Hence the inter- 
mittent arterial constriction is paralleled by an intermittent ex- 
piration. This latter serves a useful purpose, since it prevents 
the outflow of blood from the brain. The brain arteries are con- 
stricted, along with the rest ; less blood gets to the brain ; the 
movements of laughter prevent this blood from escaping too 
quickly. 

(2) Other psychologists look upon laughter as intrinsically an 
expression of joy. When we are pleased, all the bodily activities 
are heightened, and a safety-valve is required. We ' let off steam ' 
by laughing. The muscles of face and respiration are employed 
to let off the surplus energy of the body because they are con- 
stantly in use ; the energy runs off most easily by way of them. 

On either of these explanations, laughter would fall under our 
second principle. It would be the direct result of a change in 
the nervous system. The suggestion has been made, however, 
that the play of feature in laughter, the opening of the mouth and 
nostrils, may be the (3) expression of a desire to 'take in ' the whole 
of the pleasant experience. We ' take in ' a comic situation, just 



§ 59- ^^^^ Expression of the Emotions 229 

as we take in a pleasant morsel of food or a pleasant odour. On 
this side, then, laughter would fall under our fourth principle. 

Summarising this Section, we may say that the expres- 
sions of emotion include (i) the manifestations of simple 
affection ; (2) an extension of these manifestations to the 
secretory organs and the whole system of involuntary 
muscles ; (3) relics of actions, once performed in obedience 
to biological necessities ; and (4) reflex movements which 
were primarily executed in response to certain sensory 
stimuli, and have now become associated to emotions along 
with the sensations set up by those stimuli. The second 
of these expressions shows the serious nature of the situ- 
ation to be faced; the last two make up the bodily adjust- 
ment spoken of in § 57. 

Those who believe that feelings are simple mental processes, 
and that they present a large number of qualitative differences 
(§ 56), would explain the fourth factor in emotive expression a 
little differently. The emotion of care, they would say, is like the 
' — Reeling- of oppression ' ; the emotion of disappointment is like the 
'■ sour feeling ' due to an acid taste. And there is a law of the asso- 
ciation of feelings : Like feelings tend to associate. 

We have found good reason to believe, however, that the feeling 
is a compound process, and that there are but two affective qual- 
ities, neither of which can stand alone in consciousness. We have 
further found that the compound processes which we call ^ ideas ' 
do not associate as wholes : association ' by similarity ' is a form, 
not a law, of association. We shall not expect to have any such 
law of association, then, in the sphere of feeling. 

As a matter of fact, we do not find affection serving as the 
associative link between two complex processes. There is no 
reason why a particular pleasant experience should call up another 
particular pleasant experience : the pleasantness is too general, 
too evanescent, and too much dependent upon its sensory con- 
comitants. The pleasant warmth of my room does not call up 



230 Feeling and Emotion 

the pleasant breakfast that I ate an hour ago. If it calls up any- 
thing, it does so because it is pleasant warmth; thus it may call 
up the pleasant lunch that I ate at a German inn after a cold 
tramp, because one of the factors in the lunch-memory is the 
warmth of the inn-parlour. The associative link must be looked 
for always on the sensation side of the feeling ; and the association 
must fall under the formula ab-bc. 

Although the description and observation of emotive expres- 
sions do not require the use of introspection, i.e., do not constitute 
a psychological problem, the facts themselves are too useful to the 
psychologist to be neglected. It is not only that ( i ) the composition 
of the emotion, as stated in the text, furnishes illustrations of the 
association of ideas. The observation of the various forms of 
expression is of psychological value (2) in that it helps us to 
analyse and reconstruct a particular emotion ; we know what sort 
of organic sensations to look for and take account of. In certain 
cases, these sensations determine the affective quality of the whole 
emotion ; their intensity may, e.g., render an extreme joy unpleas- 
ant. And it is of further value (3) in that it enables us to un- 
derstand how the idea of pleasantness or unpleasantness, which is 
implied in every case of affective introspection (§ t^t^, takes 
shape. The idea of affection may be a mass of organic sensations, 
which have ' expressed ' a certain emotion ; or the visual picture 
of oneself under the influence of emotion ; or a word which con- 
tains a metaphor borrowed from sense (my idea of the unpleas- 
antness of a colour may be that it was a ^ hard ' or ' cold ' colour, 
etc.) ; or, finally, the word ' pleasantness ' or ' unpleasantness ' 
itself, — the word having been in the first place attached to some 
one of the foregoing ideas, as an associative supplement, but now 
detached from its associations (</. the verbal local sign : § 44) . 

§ 60. Mood, Passion and Temperament. — An emotion, 
regarded as a single total process, has three attributes : 
quality (pleasantness or unpleasantness), intensity and 
duration. 

Nothing very definite can be said either of the intensity 



§ 6o. Mood, Passion and Temperament 231 

or of the duration of emotion. It may be laid down, as a 
general rule, that the most intensive emotions have the 
shortest duration, and the weakest emotions the longest. 
The rule follows naturally from the nature of emotions. 
A severe shock to the nervous system, such as is implied 
in an intense affection, must exhaust the organism more 
quickly than a slight shock : the violent emotion, if pleas- 
urable, soon gives way to a general lassitude and indiffer- 
ence ; if unpleasurable, is ended by a swoon or faint. 

The weaker emotive states, which persist for some time 
together, are termed moods ; the stronger, which exhaust 
the organism in a comparatively short time, are called 
passions. Thus the mood of cheerfulness represents the 
emotion of joy; the mood of depression, that of sorrow. 
Like and dislike have the moods of content and discon- 
tent ; sympathy and antipathy, those of kindliness and 
sulkiness ; attraction and repulsion, those of ' charm ' and 
tedium. The mood of care is anxiety ; the mood of 
melancholy, gloom. The mood of hatred is ' not getting 
on with ' a person ; the mood of exasperation is chagrin. 
On the other hand, rage or fury is a passion, anger an 
emotion ; and we speak of a ' passionate grief,' a * passion- 
ate love,' a 'passion of terror,' etc., when we wish to indi- 
cate a high degree of emotive intensity. 

Regarded from the affective standpoint, mood evidently bears 
the same relation to emotion that the affectively toned idea bears 
to the feeling. The word ' passion ' is used, loosely, to express a 
very intense feeling, as well as a very intense emotion. We say 
that a man ' has a passion ' for collecting butterflies, meaning that 
the butterfly-idea calls up in him a very strong feehng. 

Language rarely, if ever, distinguishes more than two 
degrees of emotion proper, between the slight affective 



232 Feelmg and Emotion 

intensity of the mood and the strong affection of the 
passion. Thus we have the series : irritabihty (mood), 
aversion (weak emotion), anger (strong emotion), rage 
(passion); or chagrin (mood), mortification (weak emo- 
tion), resentment (strong emotion), exasperation (passion) ; 
or kindHness (mood), friendhness (weak emotion), ' affec- 
tion,* in the sense of * Hking ' (strong emotion), love 
(passion); or wonder (mood), surprise (weak emotion), 
astonishment (strong emotion), amazement (passion). 

No sharp line of distinction, either intensive or temporal, 
can be drawn between these various processes. We can- 
not say that a mood lasts for a week, and an emotion for 
a day ; or that a passion exhausts us in five minutes, and 
an emotion in five hours. 

One of the difficulties in the way of a classification of the emo- 
tions has been brought out, in all probability, by the instances 
just cited. The reader has probably said to himself: *I should 
not put that emotion there 1^ This difficulty is inherent in the 
nature of language, which, as we have seen (§ 33), has been 
developed as a medium for the communication of ideas, not of 
feelmgs or emotions. The words which denote emotions are 
neitoer sufficiently numerous nor sufficiently delicate for psycho- 
logical purposes : they are rough, general names, carrying different 
side- meanings to different minds. 

Hence it is not likely that any two psychologists would make 
up series, of the kind just given, in precisely the same terras. 
The emotions of each series differ in more than the single aspect 
of intensity. When we ask ourselves whether anger, e.g., is really 
nothing more than a stronger aversion, or love nothing more than 
a stronger affection, we are obliged to confess that there are other 
differences. The central feehngs differ not only in degree of affec- 
tion, but in composition, in the number and nature of their com- 
ponent sensations. 

It is noteworthy that language has but few words to express 



§ 6o. Moody Passion and Temperament 233 

pleasurable emotions. We can be annoyed, vexed, irritated, dis- 
turbed, ruffled, chagrined, bothered, etc., on the unpleasant side ; 
on the pleasant, we have only the general terms satisfaction and 
contentment, the pleasure of ' things running smoothly.' This 
accords with the fact that the direct bodily manifestations of 
unpleasant emotions are more extensive and more varied than 
those of the pleasurable states (§ 59). It places a further diffi- 
culty in the way of classification. 

The mood stands upon the same level of mental devel- 
opment as the train of ideas. Just as the train of ideas 
is determined by intellectual constitution, following always 
the line of least associative resistance, so is mood deter- 
mined by affective constitution, or, as it is more usually 
called, temperament. It is customary to distinguish four 
temperaments : the choleric, sanguine, phlegmatic and 
melancholic. The man who thinks quickly and feels 
strongly is choleric ; the man who thinks quickly and 
feels weakly, sanguine. The phlegmatic thinks slowly 
and feels weakly ; the melancholic thinks slowly and feels 
deeply. 

These affective temperaments stand upon the same level as the 
three 'intellectual temperaments ' of § 54 : the co-ordinating, sub- 
ordinating and superordinating dispositions. 

In real hfe, we rarely come across ' pure ' temperaments ; human 
nature is too complex to be run into a single mould. Literature, 
however, furnishes us with typical instances of the four tempera- 
ments. Thus Hamlet and Laertes are respectively melancholic 
and choleric ; Falstaff and the younger Percy, in the first part of 
King Henry IV,, respectively sanguine and choleric ; while the 
scenes between Touchstone and Audrey in As you like it, bring 
the sanguine and phlegmatic temperaments into sharp contrast. 



CHAPTER X 

Voluntary Movement. The Analysis of Action 

§ 6i. The Nature of Action. — Every animal organism 
is a motor organism. The animal is constantly moving, 
either moving from place to place or changing its attitude, 
i.e., the relative positions of limbs and trunk. We have 
already had indications of the importance of movement in 
psychology (Chs. VI, VII, IX); and we must now sup- 
plement what we have said of it in previous chapters, in 
order to set this importance in a clearer light. 

Animal movements are of two kinds : voluntary and 
involuntary. Psychology has to take account of both, 
though in different ways. Voluntary movement presents 
two points of interest to psychology : it has conscious 
antecedents, — conscious conditions, — and it gives rise to 
conscious processes during its performance. Involuntary 
movement, on the other hand, has no conscious antece- 
dents; we have to consider it only in so far as its per- 
formance involves the arousal of conscious processes, 
organic sensations. 

The name of invohmtary movements is given to the 
purely mechanical movements of heart, lungs, vessels, 
intestines, etc. These movements go on whether we are 
conscious or not; they continue in the deepest sleep, in 
the hypnotic trance, and in the most profound swoon, as 
steadily as in the waking life. Their conditions are 

234 



§ 6i. TJie NaUtre of Action 235 

entirely physiological ; we have the power to vary some 
of them (we can breathe quickly, e.g\ but we cannot 
arrest them, and start them again, at pleasure. As a rule, 
they pass wholly unnoticed. But if they reach a certain 
degree of intensity, they give rise to organic sensations, 
cardiac, respiratory, circulatory, etc., and to the common 
sensation of pain. It is only under these circumstances, 
as the stimuli to organic or common sensations, that 
involuntary movements fall within the range of psycho- 
logical survey. We need devote no space to them in 
the present chapter, as we have discussed their effects 
in dealing with emotive expression (§ 59). 

All the other movements of the organism are comprised 
under the term voluntary viovemejits. These do not occur 
except under definite psychological conditions, the chief 
of which is attention. As they occur, they give rise, like 
the involuntary movements, to organic or common sensa- 
tions, which in some instances pass unheeded, but in 
others are remarked, and turned to account by the 
organism for the acquiring of knowledge of the outside 
world. Our psychological analysis, therefore, must take 
account of both these sets of processes : the mental con 
ditions and the mental concomitants of voluntary move- 
ment. 

It must be clearly understood that there is no conscious pro- 
cess corresponding to the irlease of a voluntary movement, to 
vi\oving. We have first a complex of processes in consciousness, 
and a certain state of things in the brain cortex ; then we move ; 
then we have certain organic sensations in consciousness, and 
another state of the brain cortex. The middle term of the series, 
the moving, does not come into consciousness. 

The point will be made clearer if we draw a parallel, in general 



236 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

terms, between the physiology and the psychology of voluntary 
movement. On the physiological side, an impression is made 
upon a sense-organ : a nervous excitation travels to the corre- 
sponding sensory area of the cortex, and (i) explodes a sensory 
cell there. The explosion is reinforced by energy from the frontal 
lobes, and in virtue of this reinforcement has an effect upon the 
whole nervous system. More than this : the explosion is com- 
municated to a motor cell, and so sets up an excitation in a motor 
nerve ; a motor excitation travels outward to a muscle, and (2) a 
muscular contraction, a moving, results. The contraction of the 
muscle stimulates the sensory nerve-endings contained within its 
substance and within the tendons attached to it, as well as those 
upon certain articular surfaces ; another sensory excitation travels 
to the brain, and (3) the explosion of other sensory cells, in a 
different cortical area, follows. On the psychological side we have 
(i) a sensation (explosion of sensory cell), which is attended to 
(reinforcement from the frontal lobes) and felt to be pleasant or 
unpleasant (effect upon the whole nervous system), and (2) or- 
ganic sensations, due to muscular contraction. There is, however, 
no conscious process corresponding to the motor excitation, no 
sensation set up by the explosion of the motor cell. It is not 
until the second group of sensory cells is exploded that we have a 
second conscious process. 

Method. — The following experiment shows that there is no 
such thing as a motor-cell sensation, a sensation corresponding 
to the innervation of a muscle or group of muscles. Cut a cir- 
cular piece of hard wood, one inch in thickness, to the weight of 
50 gr. Cut another disc, of one-third the diameter of the first, 
from the same wood ; hollow it, and prepare a cap of wood to fit 
the top of the hole. Put enough shot in the hollow to bring the 
total weight up to 50 gr., packing the shot with cotton-wool, so 
that it does not rattle. The two weights now appear to be both 
alike of wood. Let the subject lay his arm upon a low table, palm 
upwards. Place first the large and then the small weight in his 
palm, and let him lift them, moving his arm from the elbow. If 
he has not been informed that the pieces are of the same weight, 
he will say that the smaller is markedly heavier than the larger. 



§ 6 1. TJie Nature of Action 237 

This judgment, however, might be made, even supposing that 
there were an innervation sense. The subject thought that the 
two weights were of the same material, and therefore expected 
that the larger would be the heavier. In his surprise at the heavi- 
ness of the smaller piece, he thinks that it is heavier than the 
other, although the two are really of the same weight. 

Now repeat the experiment, after telling him that the two are 
equal, and showing him that the balance makes each of them 
weigh 50 gr. He will still find the stnaller piece the heavier. If 
he were judging by the help of a motor sensation, this illusion 
would now be impossible ; for, knowing that the same amount 
of energy would be required to lift both weights, he would inner- 
vate his muscles to the same extent, i.e., have precisely the same 
innervation sensation. The illusion must be due to ingoing, not 
to outcoming, sensations, and is, in fact, to be explained by 
the circumstance that the larger piece stimulates a large number 
of cutaneous sensory nerve-endings slightly, while the smaller 
stimulates a few intensively.^ 

The problem which voluntary movement sets to psychol- 
ogy is the analysis of action. The word 'action' denotes 
both the mental condition and the mental concomitants of 
movement. It is usually qualified by an adjective, which 
indicates the nature of the condition. Thus the phrase 
* impulsive action ' covers both the impulse and the impul- 
sive movement, with the sensations which it occasions, — 
both the mental condition and the mental concomitants of 
a certain change of bodily position ; the phrase * selective 
action ' covers both the process of choice and the sensa- 
tions set up by the movement which follows it ; the phrase 

1 The question whether there is a sensation accompanying the touch-off of 
a movement must not be confused with the question whether a conscious pro- 
cess accompanies the touch-off of a tendency (§ 36). The former asks: 
Does the explosion of a motor cell give rise to sensation, as the explosion of 
a sensory cell does? The latter: Is there any conscious process attending 
the rush of an idea into the channel which tendency has dug for it? 



238 Vohintary Movemerit. Analysis of Action 

' instinctive action ' covers both the instinct, — the men- 
tal condition, — and the sensations aroused by the instinc- 
tive movement. 

' Movement ' is, therefore, a more general word than ' action.' 
All actions are, in part, movements ; but only those movements 
which have conscious processes as their conditions, and other 
conscious processes as their concomitants, can form part of 
actions. In ordinary conversation we extend the meaning of the 
term ' action ' until it is almost identical with that of movement : 
we say, e.g., that a machine ' acts ' in this vvay or that. But we 
have already had occasion to notice the fact that the scientific 
meaning of words may differ considerably from their popular 
meaning (§2). 

§ 62. The Beginnings of Voluntary Action. — There is 
no type of voluntary action, occurring in concrete experi- 
ence, which can be regarded as the simplest form of 
voluntary action in general, the form out of which all 
the more complex types have grown. This is not to be 
wondered at ; for we could no more expect to find such a 
rudimentary action within the circle of processes compos- 
ing the adult consciousness than we could to find bare 
sensations not yet combined into ideas. All the sensa- 
tions which we experience are elements in ideas, i.e., 
sensations which bring with them habits of connection 
with other sensations, and all the actions which we exjDcri- 
ence are actions whose conscious conditions include the 
memory of past actions. Now it is plain that the earliest 
sensation could not have had a habit of connection, since 
there was nothing for it to connect with. Hence we are 
justified in assuming the existence of the bare sensation, 
and in inferring its attributes from the attributes of the 
sensations which we know. And it is plain that there 



§ 62. The Beginnings of Volnntary Action 239 

must have been action, before the memory of past move- 
ments had been acquired. Hence we are justified in 
assuming the existence of an original type of action, — 
a type which represents an earher stage of organic devel- 
opment than any which is now represented in our own 
consciousness, — and in inferring its nature from the 
nature of the actions which are known to us. 

So far as we can tell, the single condition of voluntary 
action in the primitive consciousness was attention} 
Some object or process in the outside world caught the 
attention of the organism. This attention meant move- 
ment of the whole organism to or from the object: 
towards it, if its idea was pleasurable, away from it, if 
its idea was unpleasurable. The movement must be 
supposed to have taken place whether the object was 
attainable or not. 

Action of this rudimentary kind may be termed action 
tipon presentatio7i. A stimulus was presented ; it attracted 
the attention ; movement followed. The animal had never 
formed any idea of its own movement, because it had 
never moved voluntarily before ; it did not know what 
sort of mental processes would be set up by movement ; it 
did not know that it was going to move. But so soon 
as the excitation corresponding to the idea of the stimulus 
had been reinforced by other excitatory processes, — so 
soon as the stimulus was attended to, — motor excitation 
was set up, and a movement made. — In action upon 



1 One might be inclined to think that there would be another condition, 
— the pleasantness or unpleasantness of the object. But for the primitive 
organism, attention to anything but the intrinsically pleasant or unpleasant is 
impossible : attention and affection are always obverse and reverse of the 
same process (§ 38). 



240 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

presentation we have the germ of all the types of action 
found in concrete experience. 

We can never be sure that any animal movement, however 
rudimentary the organism, is a pure action upon presentation. 
It is possible that we have an instance of such action in the 
movements of the simplest unicellular organisms, e.g., the amoeba, 
toward a fragment of food-stuff or away from a drop of acid. 
The object, if edible, gives rise to a vague idea, vaguely pleas- 
urable. The rudimentary attention involved is the psychological 
condition of a movement of the total organism : the amoeba flows 
towards the fragment, pours itself out, so to speak, in this or that 
direction. If the object is deleterious, there is a reverse move- 
ment, a shrinking back of the whole mass of protoplasm. 

§ 63. The Nature of Impulsive Action. — We have as- 
sumed that action began as action upon presentation. 
Whenever we look introspectively at an action of our 
own, however, — whenever we try to analyse a concrete 
action-consciousness, — we find no trace of anything ex- 
cept action npon representation. The actions which we 
ourselves perform involve the idea of past movement, 
a conscious re-presentation of some movement previously 
performed. The simplest form of action upon representa- 
tion is impulsive action. A large proportion of the actions 
of animals which stand low in the scale of development 
are, so far as we can interpret them, impulsive actions. 
And there can be no doubt that actions of this type form 
a part of the sum of movements executed by the higher 
animals and by man. 

Suppose that I am hungry, and see a supply of food. 
The idea of the food possesses me, holds my attention. 
At the same time that I have this idea, I have the further 
ideas of a movement towards the food and of its seizure. 



§ 63. The Nature of Imptilsive Action 241 

That is to say, the sight of the food brings up in my mind 
memories of all the organic and other sensations which 
would be aroused by a real movement towards the food. 
The attention is now directed, not upon the idea of the 
food, but upon the idea of the food plus the idea of my 
own movement. Attention to this pleasurably toned com- 
pound idea is the psychological condition of actual move- 
ment : my hand goes out towards the plate, and the 
sensations which I had imagined are realised. I have 
the experience of a simple impulsive action.- 

There is a great difference between this action and 
action upon presentation. I do not merely attend to the 
food, and take it ; I attend to the food and to an idea of 
my movement towards it, — and then take it. The impul- 
sive action presupposes the representation in conscious- 
ness of a movement formerly made. 

But although in psychological analysis the difference 
between the two actions is so great, for all practical 
purposes it may be very small. Granted that I have an 
idea of previous bodily movement, I am not necessarily 
much better off than I was before. The movement which 
I remember may be exceedingly roundabout, or may be 
far more violent and exhausting than the present occasion 
demands. The mere idea of a movement is not enough : 
what I need is the idea of the right movement, i.e., of the 
movement which will take me most quickly and by the 
most direct road to the food which I see. It is only when 
the right movement comes to mind at sight of the food 
that the impulse has reached its full development. How 
does this development proceed } 

The idea of movement which comes up when I see the 
food arises by way of simultaneous association. Food- 



242 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

idea and the sensations aroused by forward bodily move- 
ment have been associated in past experience : therefore 
when the food-idea appears, the sensations aroused by 
movement tend to appear with it. The question how the 
impulsive action developes, then, resolves itself into the 
question : How is it that the idea of the right movement 
comes to be associated, more firmly than all other possible 
ideas of movement, to the food-idea ? 

The answer is, in brief, that the performance of the 
right movement makes the whole experience more pleas- 
ant than the performance of any other movement could 
do. We have seen that the pleasantness of an event, i.e., 
its hold over the attention, gives its idea a power of con- 
nection, a grip upon other ideas, which it would not have 
in its own right (§ 55). Hence the movement which 
brings pleasure in the greatest degree will be more firmly 
cemented to the food-idea than will another movement, 
which brings pleasure in a less degree. 

How is the pleasantness produced } Why is it that 
the right movement brings more pleasure than any other 
could } In the first place, the idea of the food is pleas- 
ant ; attention to it means a forward, not backward, move- 
ment. In the second place, this movement is a means to 
an end, not itself an end. Hence the most pleasant idea 
of movement will be the idea of a quick and straight 
movement, a movement which does not involve delay or 
too great effort. And in the third place, the idea of the 
result of the movement, the idea of an immediate satis- 
faction of my hunger, is pleasant ; and the satisfaction 
comes most quickly with the quickest and most direct 
movement. This idea of the result of the impulsive 
movement is a factor in the total experience which we 



§ 63. The Nature of Impulsive Action 243 

have not mentioned before : it is an idea which must evi- 
dently come up in consciousness after action upon pre- 
sentation has made us famihar with the consequences of 
movement, and an idea whose pleasantness will have a 
great deal to do with the shaping of the impulsive action. 
The more vivid the idea of result, the more accurate 
becomes the representation of the movement. When the 
impulse has reached its full development, it is sometimes 
difficult to say, from introspection, whether the ultimate 
psychological condition of the action is attention to the 
object (food), or attention to the result of the movement 
(satiety). It seems that the idea of result tends more and 
more to replace the idea of the object, as consciousness 
advances in complexity. 

If we put together the results of the last two Sections, we 
obtain the following scheme of development : — 

(i) Action upon Presentation. — Food is presented; it is attended 
to, and found pleasurable ; movement towards follows. Or an 
injurious substance is presented ; it is attended to, and found 
unpleasant ; movement away follows. 

(2) Action upon Representation. — {a) The undeveloped impulsive 
action. — Food is presented (pleasant) ; remembrance of for- 
ward movement supplements it ; movement towards follows. 
(<^) The developed impulsive action. — Food is presented 
(pleasant) ; the idea of satiety supplements it (pleasant) ; 
remembrance of direct forward movement (pleasant) supple- 
ments these ideas ; direct movement towards follows. Or an 
injurious object is presented (unpleasant) ; the idea of per- 
sonal safety supplements it (pleasant); remembrance of direct 
movement away (pleasant) supplements these ideas; direct 
movement away follows. 

We can trace the development of impulsive action in the move- 
ments of young children. It has been suggested that the more or 



244 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

less random actions of the newly born infant may be actions upon 
presentation, actions of the whole organism set up directly, in 
response to a pleasurable or unpleasurable impression, without 
any ' idea of movement,' any revival of the organic sensations 
aroused by previous movement. But it must be remembered 
that the infant moves in the foetal state, and thus makes acquaint- 
ance with its organic sensations before birth. Moreover, obser- 
vation of the ' random ' actions made in the first few days of 
infancy shows that they can all be classified as more or less per- 
fecdy developed impulsive or reflex (§ 66) movements ; we have, 
in any case, only to wait a little to see them pass into the fully 
developed form. Even the movements of the amoeba, referred 
to in the foregoing Section, may perhaps be impulsive. The 
movements towards and away may be differently ' sensed' ; the 
food-idea may be supplemented by one ' organic sensation,' and 
the idea of the deleterious substance by another. 

Method. — You may convince yourself of the great difference 
between action upon presentation and action upon representa- 
tion, i.e., of the extreme importance of the idea of movement 
for the regulation and perfecting of action, by the following 
experiment. Fix the attention steadily and intently upon some 
idea of bodily movement ; say, the rising to open a window. 
You will find that, as you attend, the impulse to rise grows 
stronger and stronger, until finally you can overcome it only by 
an effort, — by the idea that you do not really want the window 
open, that you are merely making an experiment, etc. If the 
movement-idea is so powerful in the adult consciousness, with 
all its complicated mechanism for inhibition, we may imagine 
what it must be in the mind of the animal or child or savage, 
where the inhibitory mechanism is very much less developed. 

§ 64. The Place of Impulse in Consciousness. — We 
mean by ' impulse ' the complex of processes which forms 
the psychological condition of the impulsive movement. 
This complex is a simultaneous association of the idea of 
the object, the idea of movement to or from the object, 



§ 64- TJie Place of hiipidse in Consciousness 245 

and the idea of the result of the movement, — the whole 
complex being the object of passive attention. Impulse, 
as thus understood, is closely related to the two complex 
processes which we have termed feeling and emotion. 
The three experiences may be distinguished as follows. 

The impulse differs from the feeling in three respects. 
The feeling contains a single idea or perception; the 
impulse contains three. Moreover, in the feeling the 
affection is stronger than any sensation in the complex ; 
in the impulse, the ideas have a very considerable part to 
play alongside of the affection. There is, further, a dif- 
ference in the physiological conditions of affective expres- 
sion and impulsive action, which leads to a difference in 
psychological experience. The 'expression' of the feel- 
ing is diffused over the whole body ; so far as it is mus- 
cular, it consists simply in a general strengthening or 
weakening of the whole muscular system. The expres- 
sion of the impulse is a definite movement, a definite 
group of muscular flexions and extensions ; and the 
organic sensations arising from this movement are re- 
membered, and turned to account for the shaping of 
future impulsive movements, i.e.y included in future 
impulses. 

The impulse differs from the emotion in two respects. 
Organic sensations enter into the central feeling, the 
' body ' of the primitive emotion after that feeling has 
taken shape ; they are present in the primitive impulse 
from the very first. Hence although the attention im- 
plied in the formation of the emotion and the impulse is 
the same, — passive attention, — there is noticeably more 
effort in the impulsive than there is in the emotive con- 
sciousness. And secondly, the organic sensations aroused 



246 Voluntary Movement. Ajialysis of Action 

by emotive movements are far more complex than those 
which attach to the ideas of object and result in impulse. 
In the emotion, they proceed from a large number of 
bodily organs, and from the whole muscular system ; in 
the impulse, from one group of muscles. 

It must be noted that the first of the two differences between 
impulse and emotion can be brought to light only by an appeal to 
the primitive forms of the two processes. In adult experience, 
we have no knowledge of two stages of formation in the emotion 
(§ 57). But the effort-factor present in impulse is a reminder 
that those two stages did once exist, and that they have no coun- 
terpart in impulse itself. 

§ 65. The Forms of Impulse. — Impulses fall into two 
great classes : impulses towards, and impulses away 
from. 

Just as we should be able to obtain a satisfactory classi- 
fication of the emotions if we could determine the inevi- 
table and typical ' situations ' which an organism must 
face, so we should be able to classify impulses, if we 
could determine what ideas of objects inevitably attracted 
the attention, were uniformly supplemented by the idea of 
movement, and so gave rise to typical impulsive actions. 
But the conscious processes given in actual experience are 
so intertwined and tangled that no one has hitherto suc- 
ceeded in making out a list of such ideas. 

It is customary to classify impulses by the results of 
impulsive action, i.e., to make a list not of the objects 
which evoke that action, but of the end or aim of the 
movement, as it is seen by the outside observer. We 
saw that emotions might be classified, upon a similar 
principle, as subjective and objective emotions, the former 
consisting principally of ideas about the subject experienc- 



§ 65. The Forms of Impidse 247 

ing the emotion, the latter of ideas of the situation which 
aroused it. Regarded from this point of view, impulses 
fall into two groups : subjective or individual, and objec- 
tive or social impulses. The result of impulsive action in 
the first case is to accomplish something for oneself ; its 
result in the second case is to accomplish something for 
others as well as for oneself. 

The most general forms of subjective impulse are the 
impulses of nutrition (impulse towards) and defence (im- 
pulse away from). The objective impulses appear at 
three levels of mental development, as the sexual im- 
pulses (attraction and repulsion), the parental impulses 
(affection and exclusion) and the tribal impulses (friend- 
liness and hostility). 

Instances of movement following from these impulses would 
be the reaching after food in hunger ; the clenching of the fist in 
anger ; choosing a mate within a single race or species ; the care 
devoted to one's own offspring and the '■ stepmotherly ' treatment 
of members of other families ; actions due to professional or class 
bias, to imitation of one's neighbours, etc. All forms of impulse 
are more clearly shown in the animals than in man. 

The close connection between impulse and emotion is brought 
out by the fact that some of the words used in the text to desig- 
nate impulses (attraction, affection) have already been used to 
designate emotions (§§ 58, 60). The words, of course, have 
different meanings, according as they denote an impulse or an 
emotion (§ 64) ; but the necessity of employing one word in two 
senses adds to the difficulty of classification under both heads. 
— ■ The clenching of the fist in anger is an expression of impulse, 
which has become incorporated in an emotive expression. Orig- 
inally, the movement was the expression of the impulse to strike, 
and in some cases it still retains this character. It is then a com- 
plete and final expression, and the sensations set up by it are 
attended to until it is carried out promptly and effectively. As 



248 Voluntary Moveme^tt. Analysis of Action 

part of the expression of an emotion it is a relic of impulsive 
action, and the sensations set up by it serve merely to colour the 
central feeling. 

§ 66. Reflex Action. — When the impulsive action has 
reached its highest development, the idea of movement 
which supplements the idea of the object is an exact 
image, a memory photograph, of the movement actually 
performed. But when this point has been attained, 
there is no longer any need of an idea of movement at 
all. The idea has been useful to the organism as shap- 
ing, guiding, narrowing down the movement actually 
made ; but now that the movement has been guided into 
precisely the right channels, it may be left to itself. 
Hence we find that if a particular impulsive action is 
constantly recurring, the idea of movement, originally 
contained in the impulse, gradually drops out of con- 
sciousness. Some one says to us : * There's a spider on 
the back of your head ! ' — and we raise our hand to 
brush the spider away, i.e., perform a localising move- 
ment, without any thought of the movement itself. 

In this case we have the idea of the object (spider) and 
the idea of result (brushing the spider away). We have 
no idea of movement, and we do not pay any attention 
to the organic sensations aroused by the actual movement. 
In another instance, we may have but very vague ideas 
of object and result, and none of the movement. I may 
be talking interestedly with a friend, and, without any in- 
terruption of the train of ideas, put my hand to the back 
of my head. Finding a spider there, I may say : * Ah ! I 
thought I felt something ! ' Here I had some vague idea 
of object and result, but no idea of either that was at all 
definite. 



§ 66. Reflex Action 249 

The process may be continued still further, until all 
three of the impulse-ideas, those of movement, object 
and result, as well as the sensations aroused by actual 
movement, lapse from consciousness. I may make a 
localising movement, and flick an insect away, without 
knowing that I am going to move, that I have moved, 
that the insect had settled on me, or that I have re- 
moved it. I wink my eyes a hundred times a day, 
without knowing that I do so. I turn my eyes directly 
upon anything that catches my attention in the visual 
field, and so bring the particular object upon the spot 
of clearest vision, without realising that I am moving 
my eyes or why I am moving them. And so on. 

The first of these three types of action is impulsive 
action which is just poised, so to speak, at its highest 
level, and which will very soon begin to lose its con- 
scious character. The second action is action which 
stands half-way between impulsive and reflex action. 
The third is reflex action: action which, originally im- 
pulsive, has grown so habitual that its pleasure has 
worn off, and its component ideas and sensations have 
entirely disappeared from consciousness. 

Reflex action, then, is impulsive action which has become a 
matter of course, and therefore indifferent. It stands to the 
impulsive action as the indifferent idea stands to the affectively 
toned idea, or as the states of apathy, composure, etc., stand to 
emotion. Its conditions are entirely physiological (§44). It 
has no place in psychology in its own right : it calls for mention 
simply as an instance of the psychological law of habituation. It 
cannot, strictly, be termed ' action ' : it is a movement which has 
taken shape from action. We may keep the word ' action ' for it, 
however, to indicate the fact that it does not stand upon the same 
footing as the involuntary movements of heart, lungs, etc. 



250 Vohuitary Afoveuient. Analysis of Action 

The physiological conditions of reflex action are simpler than 
those given for voluntary movement in general (§ 61). The rein- 
forcing excitations from the frontal lobes, and the consequent 
effect upon the whole nervous system, have dropped out of the 
series. We have only a sensory excitation, sensory cell explosion, 
motor cell explosion, and motor excitation with its consequence 
of muscular contraction. Moreover, the sensory cell need not be 
a cortical cell ; it may be a cell in some one of the lower nervous 
centres ((/. § 32). 

An impulsive action may pass over into a reflex during the life- 
time of an individual. But we inherit the mechanism of most of 
our reflex actions ; the nervous system brings with it a number 
of ready-made ' reflex-arcs,' i.e., connections of sensory and motor 
paths. Some of these arcs are perfect at birth ; in other cases, 
a httle time is required for the sensory-motor connection to be- 
come quite definite (§ 62). The impulses out of which these 
reflexes have proceeded belong to an earlier period in the hfe- 
history of the race or species. 

§ 6^. Instinctive Action. — The true reflex has neither 
conscious conditions nor conscious concomitants. There 
is, now, another form of movement, which is derived, like 
the reflex, from impulsive action, and which shows many 
of the characteristics of the reflex, — but which has well- 
marked conscious concomitants. This is instinctive move- 
ment. 

The conscious condition of impulsive movement is atten- 
tion to the three ideas of object, movement and result. 
All these ideas have lapsed from consciousness before 
movement becomes instinctive, as they have before it 
becomes reflex. The instinctive movement itself resem- 
bles the reflex in the certainty and promptness of its 
performance, and in its serviceableness to the organism. 
It differs from the reflex only in its greater complexity : 
it is more like a series of reflexes. But — and this is 



§ 6/. Instinctive Action 251 

the important point — the organic sensations aroused by 
reflex movement are entirely neglected ; the organic sen- 
sations aroused by the instinctive movement are attended 
to, and are highly pleasurable. 

Here, then, is the difficulty of the problem which in- 
stinctive movement presents to the psychologist : How 
are we to reconcile the fact that the movement has 
become mechanical and reflex-like, by frequent repeti- 
tion, with the other fact that the affection has not worn 
off the sensations which accompany it ? 

First let us be sure of the facts. We shall get our best illustra- 
tions of instinctive movements from animal psychology. ( i ) There 
is no idea of the result of instinctive movement. — To prove this 
we may take the instance of the second year's bird which builds 
the nest pecuhar to its species, or of the caterpillar which spins 
the comphcated cocoon of its species. The animals have no pat- 
tern to go by : there can be no idea of the completed nest or of 
the finished cocoon. (2) There is no idea of the object to or from 
which movement is to be made. — The newly hatched chick pecks 
at a newspaper under its feet, and ducks its head and runs when 
a pigeon's wing flickers over the barn-yard. We say : ' It takes 
the printed letters for grains ' and ' It thought it saw a hawk.' But 
it never has seen either grains or hawks. Evidently, then, it can 
have no idea of the object to or from which it is moving. The 
movement is touched off, reflexly, by the sensory stimulus, just as 
is the really reflex movement of the hand, whereby an insect is 
flicked away from the coat upon which it has settled. (3) There 
is no idea of the movement to be made. — The cage-reared mi- 
grant beats its wings against its cage at the approach of winter, 
in its endeavour to fly south. It never has flown south : it can 
have no mental representation of organic sensations which have 
never been presented in its consciousness. (4) The sensations 
aroused by instinctive movements are pleasant. — This is borne 
out by introspection, and follows from such instances as that just 



252 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

given, where the pleasantness of the organic sensations aroused by 
instinctive movement is strong enough to overcome the unpleas- 
antness of bruised breast and wings. We see the same thing in 
the fighting instinct developed among many animals during the 
period of courtship. The consequences of the combat are often 
unpleasant ; but the instinctive movements still continue, their 
pleasantness overcoming the unpleasantness. 

To reconcile the two facts we must have recourse to 
biology. There are some things which the organism 
cannot afford to neglect, which it must attend to, if it 
is to survive {cf. § 38). The bodily changes set up by 
instinctive movement must not be neglected. The move- 
ment is of the greatest importance to the organism ; and 
it is too complicated to become altogether unconscious, 
to be turned over entirely to the lower nervous centres 
for regulation. 

To this statement we may add the considerations brought for- 
ward with regard to the organic sensations in § 56. If we go 
back to the sources of the reflex and instinctive actions, we see 
that the organic sensations which enter into the instinctive con- 
sciousness would be more intensive than those aroused by the 
reflex. It is natural, then, that their aff*ective tone should not 
wear off. Organic sensations remain pleasant or unpleasant, if 
they are at all intensive ; their stimuli put them in intimate rela- 
tion to the total state of the nervous system. Moreover, instinct- 
ive movement, though it has become mechanised in the course 
of organic evolution, does not occur so continually, in the life of 
the animal, as does reflex movement. It occurs at critical periods, 
which are so far the same for all members of a species that 
mechanisation is useful, but which, just because they are critical, 
are separated by intervals of greater or less duration. In these 
intervals other types of action suffice for the needs of the organism. 

The true instinctive movement has no conscious con- 
dition. But it is clear that when a certain instinctive 



§ 6/. histinctive Action '• 253 

movement has been a few times performed, every later 
repetition of it will have definite conscious antecedents. 
Human instinctive movement, performed in adult life, 
always has a conscious condition, consisting of the ideas 
of object, result and movement. At this point we have 
instinctive action. The ' instinct ' — that is, the conscious 
condition of the instinctive movement — is formally indis- 
tinguishable from the 'impulse': each consists of attention 
to the same three ideas. The sole introspective difference 
between instinctive and impulsive action is the greater 
intensity and larger number of the organic sensations 
which accompany the instinctive movement. We must 
add to this, however, a difference brought out by com- 
parative introspection : the difference that instinctive ac- 
tion is often performed, in obedience to biological laws, 
in the face of opposing impulses. 

We find instinctive action even in animals. Thus when a bird 
comes to build its nest in the third year, it must have some mem- 
ory of the pattern of last year, of the movements of nest-building, 
and of the results which followed. These three ideas, all pleasant, 
form the conscious condition of the instinctive actions of this third 
year. 

As instances of human instinctive action we may take hunting 
and competition. When a man goes out duck-shooting, he has an 
idea of his object, of his movements and of the result at which 
the movements aim. Now he may think, on reflection, that the 
object is insignificant, that the movements will be made under 
very unpleasant circumstances, and that the result is problemati- 
cal : yet he goes, and enjoys himself. He goes, in obedience to 
the instinct of pursuit ; he enjoys himself, because instinctive 
movements are pleasant. 

In a case like this, we clearly see the instinctive nature of the 
action. The antecedent ideas in consciousness are unpleasant : 
yet a movement towards follows them. The nervous mechanism 



254 Vohmtary Movement. Analysis of Acttofz 

works automatically. Had the conscious antecedent been an 
impulse, the following movement would have been movement 
away. In the case of rivalry (emulation, competition) there is 
no such clear difference. The action might be regarded as impul- 
sive, were it not that we can trace its development from the fight- 
ing instincts of the lower animals. 

It is important to grasp the fact that the ' instinct ' comes later 
than the ' instinctive ' movement. We never have impulsive action 
without impulse (the conscious condition) . The first instinctive 
movements, on the contrary, are made without any conscious con- 
dition, without any preceding ' instinct' The instinct takes shape 
when we have had some experience of instinctive movements and 
their results : only after this experience do we get the full process, 
' instinctive action.' This fact alone would be enough to differen- 
tiate the two forms of action, impulsive and instinctive, even if 
introspection of the adult consciousness showed no difference at 
all between the two experiences. 

No satisfactory list of human instincts can be made out. Be- 
sides the two mentioned, the instincts of pursuit and of rivalry, we 
may instance the instinct of speech, which shows itself even in deaf- 
mutes, and which is normally reinforced by the impulse to imita- 
tion ; the play-instinct, which in animals always takes the form of 
mimic combats ; the instinct of inquisitiveness, which perhaps had 
its origin in apprehension of the unknown {cf. § 70) ; and the 
acquisitive instinct, which probably arose under the biological 
necessity of storing up a supply of food for the winter months. _, 

§ 6^. Selective, Volitional and Automatic Action. — Im- 
pulsive and instinctive actions are possible only so long as 
the attention to their antecedent ideas remains passive. 
Action which is conditioned by active attention is termed 
selective or volitional action. 

(i) Selective action arises when we have in conscious- 
ness the materials of two different impulses, — when two 



§ 68. Selective, Volitional , Automatic Action 255 

compound ideas of object and result are both alike supple- 
mented by the idea of one's own movement, and the atten- 
tion oscillates from the one to the other. A friend meets 
me on the street, and says : ' Come out for a walk ! ' I 
have now in consciousness the impulse to walk and the 
impulse, previously formed, to go home and work. There 
is a conflict of impulses, and action follows when one of 
the two has gained the upper hand over its rival. — Selec- 
tive action, then, stands to impulsive precisely as active 
attention stands to passive. 

It follows from this that there will usually be more effort in the 
experience of selective action than in that of impulsive ; active 
attention means more effort than passive (§ -^Z^. The conscious 
conditions of the two movements also differ considerably in com- 
position : 'impulse' is a simultaneous association of three ideas, 
two of which (the ideas of mov^ement and result) are pleasant, 
while the third (idea of object) may be either pleasant or unpleas- 
ant j ' choice ' or ' selection ' presupposes alternate attentions to 
two such associations, accompanied by the sentiment of doubt or 
mood of indecision (§ 90). 

The impulse which wins is the impulse which is favoured by 
mental constitution, the impulse whose cortical excitations are 
reinforced by a bodily tendency (§ 35). The parallel between 
the victorious impulse, in selective action, and the victorious idea, 
in active attention, is so close that no more need be said here 
about selective action in general. 

(2) Volitional action arises when we have in conscious- 
ness two sets of ideas, which are both strongly pleasant 
or unpleasant, but one of which is supplemented by the 
idea of our own movement while the other is not. The 
conflict is now not between two impulses, but between an 
impulse, on the one hand, and attention to a set of ideas 
which do not suggest action of any kind, on the other 



256 Vohintary Movement. Analysis of Action 

(§ 69). Which complex gets the upper hand, — whether 
action or no action results, — depends upon the capacity of 
each to hold the attention. Thus I hear my alarum-clock, 
and have the impulse to get out of bed. The impulse is 
opposed by the idea of another half-hour's sleep. If the 
impulse-ideas, the ideas of the time, of my day's work, etc., 
can hold the attention, I get up. 

(3) Just as active attention may become passive, — 
when, e.g., we grow * absorbed ' in the problem before us, 
— so may a selective or volitional action pass into a reflex- 
like form, which is termed automatic action. Some par- 
ticular impulse may habitually gain the victory over its 
rival impulses, or over the ideas which compete with it for 
the attention. When this is the case, the idea of move- 
ment, contained in the impulse, and the organic sensations 
aroused by actual movement, gradually cease to attract 
notice : the whole movement becomes indifferent, and is 
relegated to the lower nervous centres for guidance. In 
its earlier stages, however, automatic action differs from 
reflex action in the fact that the ideas of object and result 
do not entirely lapse from consciousness. I look out of 
window and see the postman approaching, and say : 
'I'll go down and get the letters.' The movement of 
walking follows upon attention to the ideas of object 
(postman) and result (letters) ; it is itself performed quite 
automatically. Or a practised piano-player sits down to 
play a score at sight. He has the idea of the score, and 
some idea of the result of his playing (he knows that the 
composition is a march or a sonata) ; but the movements 
of hands and fingers are automatic. 

At a later stage the whole action becomes automatic. 
While I am writing, I dip my pen into the ink time after 



§ 68. Selective f Volitional^ Automatic Action 257 

time, without having any idea of the ink-bottle, of the 
result of my dipping, or of the movement. So with walk- 
ing : walking was originally a volitional action, but is now 
completely automatic. 

Automatic actions of this latter kind are true reflexes, — re- 
flexes which have taken shape from selective or volitional actions 
within the Hfetime of an individual. They are sometimes called 
' secondary reflexes,' the adjective ' secondary ' serving to mark 
them off from the reflexes which have been formed from impulsive 
actions, during the lifetime either of the individual or of the race. 

Most of the actions of our everyday life are of a mixed charac- 
ter, beginning as volitional or selective, but running their farther 
course as impulsive or automatic. — The same advantage follows 
from the growth of automatic action that follows from the passage 
of active into passive attention (§38). The less we have to 
attend to the unessential, the more time and energy have we to 
attend to the essential. As more and more organic functions are 
discharged by the lower nervous centres, the frontal lobes are left 
more and more free to undertake new duties. 

Putting together the results of this chapter, we obtain the fol- 
lowing table of the development of Action. 

Involuntary Movements. Voluntary Movements. 

(i) Action upon Presentation. 

I 
Action upon Representation. 

(2) Impulsive Action. 

I 

(3) Reflex Action. (4) Instinctive Action. (5) Selective and Volitional 

Action. 

I 
(6) Automatic Action. 

It is tempting to regard the involuntary movements as ex- 
tremely reflex reflexes, i.e., as movements which spring from an 
original impulsive source, but are now so far removed from it as 
to show no trace of their origin. There does not seem, however, 
to be any real warrant for the assumption. 
s 



258 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

§ 69. Inaction. — Every instance of attention in the 
primitive consciousness means movement of the primitive 
organism. So long as consciousness is inattentive, the 
organism is inactive. The first condition of inaction, then, 
is (i) a generally inattentive ('scatter-brained') state of 
consciousness. 

(2) Later on, when action upon presentation has given 
place to action upon representation, voluntary movement 

^ does not follow upon attention unless one of the ideas 
attended to is the idea of one's own movement. While 
>he impulsive action is still imperfectly developed, the 

' idea of movement will, it is true, be liable to attach to 
almost any presented idea : the child stretches out its 
arms for the moon. Nevertheless, there is now a second 
possible condition of inaction : the association of the ideas 
of object and of movement will be broken up in all cases 
where the object is found to be unattainable. It soon 
becomes a matter of experience that reaching after the 
moon is fruitless, and has no pleasant consequences. 
Hence the moon-idea ceases to be supplemented by the 
idea of movement. Impulsive action passes into inaction, 
because the movement-idea has ' dropped off ' certain 
ideas to which it was once associated. 

Inaction may result (3) from a conflict of equally strong 
impulses. If the impulses to go for a walk and to go 
home and work (§ 6^) were of precisely the same strength, 
I should be obliged to stand still; I should be inactive, 
until one of them was reinforced, and so gained the upper 
hand in consciousness. 

An instance of this sort of inaction, so often quoted that it has 
become proverbial, is to be found in the Sophisms of M. Buridan, 
a rector of the University of Paris in the 14th century. We are 



§ 69. Inactio7i 259 

asked to imagine the case of an ass, which is hungry and thirsty in 
equal degree, and is placed just midway between a basket of oats 
and a pail of water. The impulses in both directions being exactly 
equal, the animal would starve. 

Inaction may result also (4) from the fact that the ideas 
which rival the impulse are the stronger of the two com- 
plexes. When I hear my alarum-clock, I have the impulse 
to get out of bed. But the idea that I have nothing 
especial to do, combined with the feeling of present com- 
fort, may overcome the impulse : I stay where I am. — In 
the first of these instances we have inaction in place of 
selective action, in the second we have it in place of 
volitional action. 

The last illustration shows that there are certain ideas, 
in the developed consciousness, to which the idea of move- 
ment has never been associated at all. We must suppose 
that at the period when impulsive action was emerging 
from action upon presentation, a movement-idea was 
associated, as a matter of course, to every idea that caught 
the attention. But the association ceased to be universal 
as soon as the idea of movement ' dropped out of ' cer- 
tain impulses, leaving them not impulses, but ordinary 
associations. Henceforth the idea of movement formed 
connections as other ideas did : it had no advantage over 
them. And just as we do not associate the idea of * black ' 
to that of 'grass,' so we do not associate the idea of our 
own movement to the ideas of * organism,' 'concept,' 
* ocean ' and a thousand others. Here, then, is another 
condition of inaction: (5) we do not act, because there is 
nothing in the nature of the object attended to which 
should call up the movement-idea. 

Finally, we have cases of pathological inaction (6) in 



26o Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action 

the paralysis of the organism during a violent emotion, 
e.g.^ that of extreme terror. There is here no crouching 
down or running away ; all movement is inhibited. 

Since in the primitive consciousness every case of attention 
means the performance of an action, the organism has a strong 
inherited tendency to movement. Hence it comes that we never 
attend, never have a clear idea of anything, — i.e., never feel, — 
without also moving (§ i^^. The nervous system is built upon a 
motor plan ; it is never disturbed by an excitation without sending 
an excitation out again, to some part of the body. If the con- 
ditions of voluntary movement are not fulfilled, this outgoing 
excitation gives rise to involuntary movements ; pulse is changed, 
the viscera move, etc. In the normal man, therefore, inaction, 
the absence of voluntary movement, does not mean a state of 
total quietude : whenever he attends (feels), certain of his organs 
are the seat of involuntary movements. 



PART III 

CHAPTER XI 
Recognition, Memory and Imagination 

§ 70. The Nature of Recognition. — Certain objects and 
processes of the outside world are familiar to us. When 
their ideas appear in consciousness, they have attaching 
to them a mark or sign of familiarity, just as pressures at 
different parts of the body or objects lying at a distance 
from us in the field of visual space have attaching to them 
a mark or sign of locality (§ 44). The local sign makes a 
given cutaneous impression a ' back of the head ' impres- 
sion ; the familiarity mark makes that or another im- 
pression a * known ' or ' recognised ' or * remembered ' 
impression. 

The problem of recognition, then, is very similar to 
that of localisation. We have, in each case, a particular 
idea or group of ideas which differs from others in the 
fact that it is marked or qualified in a particular way. 
The mark is a conscious process or group of conscious 
processes ; and our business, in each case, is to analyse 
and reconstruct it, by the help of introspection, and to 
ascertain its physiological conditions. 

Suppose that you are entering a street-car. As you 
enter, you run your eyes over the line of faces before 
you. The first half-dozen of your fellow-passengers are 
strangers ; their faces arouse no interest, do not arrest 
your gaze. At the end of the car, however, you see some- 

261 



262 Recogiiitiony Memory arid Imagination 

one whom you know ; you recognise him. A sudden 
change occurs in your consciousness; you call him by 
name, take a seat at his side, and begin to converse with 
him. — What was it that happened in consciousness, at 
the moment of recognition ? What are the conscious 
processes involved in * recognising ' t 

For one thing, your visual idea of your friend was 
supplemented by a number of other, centrally aroused 
ideas. As you looked down the line of strange faces, your 
present train of ideas was not interrupted : the visual 
ideas were indifferent to you. But as soon as you 
receive this visual idea, a host of other ideas, derived 
from your past intercourse, flock into consciousness : will 
the weather spoil the excursion that you were planning } 
has he solved the problem that was bothering you both 
last night.? did the morning paper say anything about 
that election.? and so on. —The first characteristic of the 
recognitive consciousness, in this instance, is the supple- 
menting of the given impression by a large number of 
ideas. Recognition has meant the formation of a highly 
complex simultaneous association. 

At the same time that the association is being formed, 
your mood\i?i^ changed. As you entered the car you were, 
we will suppose, thinking indifferently upon your imme- 
diate business. When you see your friend, the mood of 
indifference changes to a mood of pleasantness, which we 
cannot describe better, perhaps, than by the phrase ' feel- 
ing at home.' The mood contains, besides the pleasant 
affection, a complex of organic sensations, set up by an 
'easy' bodily attitude. — The second characteristic of the 
recognitive consciousness, then, is a pleasurable mood. 

Putting the various components together, we have (i) 



§§ 70j 71- Nature and Forms of Recognitio7i 263 

the presented idea; (2) its centrally aroused supplements; 
and (3) the mood of 'feeling at home.' The union of 
these three factors gives us a * recognition.' 

Since the supplementary ideas come to mind in obedience to 
the law of association, i.e., because certain part-processes are 
common to them and to the visual idea of your friend, they serve 
to define the place of that visual idea in your total mental experi- 
ence. In this sense every such group of supplementary ideas may 
be termed, metaphorically, a ' local mark ' ; for it locahses the 
given idea in time and in place. A ' local mark ' of this kind, 
plus the 'at home ' mood, constitutes the mark of famiharity. — The 
mood of recognition is a weakened survival of the emotion of 
relief (fear unfulfilled). To an animal so defenceless as was primi- 
tive man, the strange must always have been cause for anxiety 
{cf. the derivation of the word 'fear ' : § 57). The bodily attitude 
which expresses recognition is still that of relief from tension, that 
of ease and confidence. 

Every recognitive experience is intrinsically pleasant. Its 
pleasantness may, however, be outweighed by the unpleasantness 
of the recognised idea. If the face which I recognise in the 
street-car belongs to an individual whom I am particularly anxious 
to avoid, the total experience is unpleasant : an unpleasurable 
emotion is set up, and the pleasantness of the organic sensations 
contained in the recognitive mood is forced into the background 
of consciousness. We have something very similar to this in 
the instances of impulsive and instinctive movements away from 
an object. The sensations evoked by the movements would, of 
themselves, be accompanied by pleasantness ; but the idea of the 
object may be so fearful or loathsome that the pleasantness is 
not felt. 

§ 71. The Forms of Recognition. — While the local signa- 
ture of visual and cutaneous impressions differs consider- 
ably in different consciousnesses, it is always something 
quite definite, a complex of well-defined sensations. The 



264 RecognitioUy Memory and Imagination 

knowledge that a pressure had been made * somewhere * 
on the surface of the body, or that an .object was lying 

* somewhere ' in visual space, would be of little service to 
us. The local sign, if it is to be of any value, must indi- 
cate some particular part of the skin or some particular 
point in visual space. On the other hand, the familiarity 
mark — supplementary ideas and mood of * at home ' — 
may be of any degree of definiteness or indefiniteness. 

Recognition will thus have two typical forms, definite 
and indefinite recognition, — forms which, nevertheless, 
pass over into each other by a large number of intermedi- 
ate forms. It is hidefinite when the sole supplement of 
the given idea is the word 'known' or 'familiar.' We 
pass some one on the street, and say to our companion : 

* I'm sure I know that face ! ' Here the familiarity mark 
consists of the word * known ' and the recognitive mood. 
Less indefinite are those cases of recognition in which 
the presented idea calls up a general classificatory term. 
As we glance down the line of strangers in the street-car, 
we may think to ourselves : ' Lawyer, — farmer, — com- 
mercial traveller.' We have recognised them, indefinitely : 
the familiarity mark consists of the word ' lawyer,' etc., and 
the recognitive mood. Lastly, recognition may be defi- 
nite ; the supplementary ideas may be so numerous and 
unequivocal that the given idea calls up quite definite situ- 
ations and incidents in our past experience. Thus we may 
be accosted with the words : ' Don't you remember me } ' 
We recognise the speaker, indefinitely, as a University 
man ; but that is all. * Don't you remember Smith .? ' 
Recognition becomes more definite ; but we have known 
several Smiths, and do not yet definitely recognise this 
one. *■ Don't you remember the Smith who was with you 



§ yi. The For 7) IS of Rccognitioii 265 

on the Brocken in 'Zj ? ' Now we have a crowd of sup- 
plementary ideas, representing incidents experienced in 
common with this particular individual ; the mood reaches 
its full intensity ; recognition is definite. 

When we classify recognitions as definite and indefinite, 
we are thinking of them as already completed. Recogni- 
tion is definite when the supplementary ideas are definite, 
indefinite when they are indefinite. We can now classify 
recognitions, from another point of view, as direct and 
indirect. In this instance, we are thinking of the way in 
which recognition is brought about, not of its character as 
an item of actual experience. 

Recognition is direct or immediate, when the presented 
idea is at once supplemented by other ideas, and the recog- 
nitive mood at once aroused. It is indirect or mediate 
when the familiarity mark is not called up by the presented 
idea, but only by some idea successively associated to it. 

Thus the recognition of your friend in the street-car is 
an illustration of direct recognition. You no sooner see 
him than the supplementary ideas are flocking into con- 
sciousness, and the recognitive mood is in course of forma- 
tion. The recognition of Smith, on the other hand, is an 
indirect recognition. The first vague supplements of the 
visual idea do not enable you to recognise it as the idea of 
an old acquaintance ; you would have passed by, without 
knowing that you had met a former friend. The verbal 
(auditory) idea ' Smith ' is now associated to the visual 
idea, and the visual-auditory complex has new supple- 
ments. Still recognition is not definite. The verbal ideas 
of ' Brocken ' and * 1887 ' are now further associated to the 
visual-auditory complex ; the new complex has many sup- 



2^6 Recognition, Memory and Imagination 

plements, and starts a definite train of ideas, — recognition 
is complete. 

If we reduce the process of indirect recognition to its lowest 
terms, we get the following formula. We have an idea, abc : say, 
the visual idea of a person. At first this idea stands alone in con- 
sciousness ; it does not call up other ideas. Then it is supplemented 
by other ideas, xyz : say, the auditory complex ' I was with you on 
the Brocken in '87.' Among the supplements of xyz are the ideas 
of the walking-tour to which they refer, /^r, and of our friend, as 
he was then, bed. Here, then, is a successive association of ideas : 
abcxyz gives place to xyzpqj'bcd. The recognitive mood attaches 
primarily to the common elements, be ; it is extended to the re- 
maining element a (a beard, or grizzled hair, or a different mode 
of dress) simply because this element is given in connection widi 
be. We should not have recognised abexyz except by way of the 
idea xyzpq7'bed ; the recognition is indirect. 

§ 72. Recognition and Cognition. — In course of time, as 
we know, the affective processes in emotion may become 
so far weakened that the emotion passes over into a mood. 
With still further repetition, the affective processes in the 
mood disappear altogether, and we are left with a ' mood 
of indifference.' The recognitive mood of 'feeling at 
home ' is no exception to the rule ; its pleasantness wears 
off, and its organic sensations, becoming indifferent, are 
disregarded. 

Thus we do not ' recognise ' the clothes which we put 
on every morning, or the pen with which we are accus- 
tomed to write : we take them for granted. When famil- 
iarity has gone thus far, — when the familiar has ceased 
to call up supplementary ideas and to be pleasant, — we 
say that recognition has become cognition. We cognise 
our pen as our pen, and our clothes as our clothes, without 
any intermediation of centrally aroused ideas or of the 



§ 72. Recognition and Cognition 2,6'/ 

recognitive mood. Cognition, that is, is a recognition 
which has become automatic and mechanical ; it stands 
to recognition very much as reflex stands to impulsive 
action. 

At the same time, it does not seem true to say that 
cognition has no psychological conditions of any kind, 
that there is no conscious cognition-mark belonging to the 
ideas of pen and clothes. The organic sensations which 
formed part of the original recognitive mood are disre- 
garded ; but they have not altogether disappeared from 
consciousness. They are present, weakly and vaguely, 
whenever we cognise ; so that if we describe the pleas- 
urable mood of recognition by the phrase * at home,' we 
may say that cognition has a special mood of indifference, 
best described, perhaps, by the phrase 'of course.' 

Introspection of the cognitive consciousness does not reveal 
any trace of centrally aroused, supplementary ideas. It is true 
that the sight of pen and clothes evokes certain movements. But 
these do not involve the idea of movement ; they are secondary 
reflexes (§ 68). And my cognition of the picture which always 
hangs upon a particular wall in my study does not even evoke a 
movement. Cognition, therefore, seems to be brought about 
solely by the aid of the ' of course ' mood. What we called the 
' local mark ' has wholly vanished. 

On the other hand, we have good evidence of the presence 
of the mood. Introspection bears out the statement that when 
we cognise we have, besides the idea cognised, a vague complex 
of organic sensations which proceed from the bodily attitude 
assumed in face of the ' of course ' impression. These sensa- 
tions are best observed on occasions when our cognition of an 
object is for some reason prevented. We look at our inkstand, 
and find that the pen, which we ahvays keep in it, has disap- 
peared ; or we glance round the breakfast-room, and discover 
that a picture which has always hung upon a certain wall is 



268 Recognition^ Memory a7td Imagination 

absent. We have not been in the habit of recognising pen and 
picture ; they are too much matters of course to call up the 
recognitive mood and supplementary ideas. But now that they 
are gone, our indifferent ^ of course ' mood is jarred ; and we 
are at once on the alert to discover the reasons for their 
absence. At the moment of jar, at the instant when the attention 
is caught by the unexpected event, the sensations which make up 
the ' of course ' mood are plainly apparent ; but their clearness 
is hardly more than momentary. 

It may seem paradoxical to assert that cognition comes later, 
in the course of mental development, than re-cognition ; as para- 
doxical as it would be to say that the re- presentation of an 
object can occur before its presentation. The paradox, however, 
is merely a matter of terminology, and ceases to be a paradox 
when we know just what we mean by the words '■ recognition ' and 
'cognition.' We have had something similar in the fact that 
instinctive movements are made by the animal before the instinct, 
the conscious condition of instinctive action, has taken shape 
(§ 67). 

§ 73. The Investigation of Recognition. — Four principal 
problems are suggested by the foregoing Sections: (i) Is 
direct or indirect recognition the commoner experience "i 
(2) Can the line of distinction between definite and in- 
definite recognition be drawn with any degree of sharp- 
ness .-* (3) After how long an interval is recognition 
possible.-* (4) What is the importance of verbal associa- 
tion in recognition } 

We cannot return any very complete answer to these 
questions. Experimental work upon them has been begun, 
but is confined so far to cases of recognition under very 
simple conditions in particular sense departments. 

Method. — (i) Prepare a large number of solutions of odor- 
iferous substances. Take care that the bottles which contain them 



I 



§ 73- ^^^^ hivcstigation of Recognition 269 

are all of the same appearance, that the different colours of the 
liquids are not visible, etc. Let the subject smell them, one after 
another, and write a description of the conscious processes which 
each scent sets up. You will be able to check his description by 
your observation of his facial expression during the experiment ; 
the mood of recognition and the mood of uncertainty give rise to 
different expressive movements of the facial muscles. 

In an investigation made with a series of 62 scents it was found 
that the cases of direct recognition amounted to 79.5% of the 
total number. In 44.9 % , supplementary ideas of all kinds at once 
flocked into consciousness; in 27.6%, a definite name was at once 
associated to the impression ; in 7 % , the word '■ famihar ' was the 
sole associate. The remaining recognitions were indirect. 

(2) The written records made by the subject in the experi- 
ments just described will, evidently, enable us to classify his 
recognitions as definite or indefinite. Experiments upon this 
question can also be carried out as follows : A series of tones or 
colours is presented, term by term, to the observer. After a cer- 
tain interval, a single tone or colour is given, and the subject 
required to say whether it was or was not contained in the 
original series, and in the former event what place it occupied 
there. If he says : ' I had it before, but I don't know where it 
came,' the recognition is indefinite ; if he says : ' It was the third 
of the series,' the recognition is definite. The number of terms 
in the series, the order in which they are given, the sense depart- 
ment from which they are taken, and the interval separating the 
series from the single impression, must all be varied in different 
sets of experiments. — If the other conditions are kept the same, 
definite recognition will be found to be uniformly dependent upon 
the length of the time interval, so that the dependence is expres- 
sible by a mathematical formula. 

(3) A grey disc, which we will call the standard grey, is shown 
to the observer, say, for 5 sec. After a given interval, he is shown 
either the standard grey, or a grey which is somewhat lighter or 
darker than the standard, and required to say whether or not it is 
the same as the standard. The time interval is increased until 
mistakes begin to be made ; and the amount of error which 



2/0 Recognition, Memory and Imagination 

each increase of interval brings with it is noted by the experi- 
menter. 

(4) There can be no doubt that verbal association is extremely 
important for recognition. Experiments can best be made by a 
method similar to that described under (2) above. 

Prepare two series of discs, of different brightnesses. Each 
series must begin with white and end with black, but one is to 
contain five terms in all, and the other nine. The difference 
between every successive pair of greys must be the same for 
sensation ; i.e., you must choose your discs in accordance with 
Weber's law (§ 27). 

Present a series to the subject, going in regular order, from 
black to white or white to black. After a brief interval, show him 
some member of the series, taken at random, and ask him what 
place it occupied in the original series. As long as you test him 
by the 5 -series, he will make no mistakes ; he is able to remem- 
ber the discs by the verbal associations * black,' ' dark grey,' '■ grey,' 
* light grey,' ' white.' But when you take the 9-series, he is con- 
stantly making mistakes; he has no verbal association to guide 
him. 

You can convince yourself that it is really the verbal association 
which is doing the work of recognition by the following variation 
of the experiment. Show the series of nine brightnesses, and name 
each disc as you show it : * one, two, three,' etc. The observer's 
mistakes at once decrease ; he recognises a given grey not by any 
grey-name, but by help of the number-name ' four ' or ^ five.' 

§ 74. Recognition and Memory. — We have seen that the 
recognitive consciousness consists of three sets of pro- 
cesses: a presented idea, the centrally aroused supple- 
ments of this idea, and a mood. So far as it is composed 
of sensations and their derivatives, we have in it a simul- 
taneous association of ideas. 

Simultaneous associations of ideas may be of three 
kinds : associations of peripherally aroused ideas, of 
centrally aroused ideas, and of peripherally and centrally 



§ 75- '^^^^ Memory 'Idea 271 

aroused ideas. An association of the first kind does not 
occur in the developed consciousness, except in the form 
of a cognition; no complex of objects shown to us for the 
first time can be so utterly unknown and strange that it 
is not indefinitely recognised as a ' machine ' or ' some sort 
of a plant,' etc. When you are shown a seismograph 
tracing for the first time, you may be wholly unable to 
say what it represents ; but at least you know that it is 
a scrawl, a tracing of some kind. An association of the 
second type, which is accompanied by the recognitive 
mood, is termed a 'memory.' The name * recognition ' is 
applied only to associations of peripherally and centrally 
aroused ideas. 

A meinory^ then, is a centrally aroused idea, centrally 
supplemented, and attended by the mood of * at home.' 
The memory consciousness is the recognitive conscious- 
ness, with the single difference that the principal idea, 
the idea remembered, is of central origin. We have now 
(i) to examine the nature of the centrally aroused idea, 
and note the points in which it differs from the periphe- 
rally aroused, and (2) to enquire into the conditions of 
the central arousal of complex mental processes. 

§ 75. The Memory-Idea. — If we have witnessed a bad 
accident, we are * haunted ' for some little time by mental 
pictures which represent it ; the scene keeps repeating 
itself before our mind's eye. And we come home from 
the hearing of a light opera with ' our head full ' of airs ; 
they sing themselves to our mental ear, whether we will 
or no. 

In instances like these we have the most {primitive form 
of the incinory-idca. The memory-idea is originally a 



2/2 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination 

sort of continued after-image (§ 24), an after-image which 
persists long after the peripheral effects of the stimulus 
have passed away. It is the mental counterpart of the 
central (cortical) portion of the total excitation set up by 
the stimulus. 

The memory-idea, at this stage, does not differ in quality 
from its peripheral predecessor. The pallor of the injured 
man's face, the colour of his clothing, the blood issuing 
from the crushed limb, are all branded upon consciousness, 
and remain what they were. The memory-idea is, how- 
ever, less intensive, less clear in outline, and as a rule less 
permanent than the peripheral. We are not so liable to be 
sickened by our memory of the accident as we were by 
the sight of it, however vivid the memory may be ; the 
details of the scene are less sharply cut than they were in 
reality ; and there is a greater likelihood of the memory 
being ousted by other ideas, of its losing hold upon the 
attention, than there was while we were spectators of the 
actual occurrence. Although, therefore, the memory-idea 
is, on the side of quality, a representation or reprodnction 
of the accident or operatic air, the intensity, duration and 
extension of its component sensations are sufficiently dif- 
ferent from those of its original to prevent any danger of 
confusion. 

But if at first the memory-idea gives a photographic 
reproduction of the qualities which it represents, it soon 
begins to lose its qualitative accuracy. It is thrust out of 
consciousness, and brought back again; it is overrun by 
other memories ; it forms connections with a host of other 
ideas. It is no wonder, then, that as time goes on it 
becomes very dissimilar from its original. Indeed, if our 
memories were composed exclusively of reproductions, 



§ 75- T^^^ Memory-Idea ly^t 

they would be untrustworthy as regards events which had 
occurred even within a few days of their recall. 

Fortunately, however, the fact that every idea in con- 
sciousness tends to form connections with other ideas, — 
a fact which might have been the ruin of memory, — 
proves to be its salvation. A consideration of two points 
will make this clear, (i) Every experience, however com- 
plex, can be expressed by a number of words, a verbal 
description. Now we have seen that verbal association 
is one of the most important forms of simultaneous 
association ; the associated word or words put the seal 
of finality upon the experience. And the word-idea, the 
visual, auditory and tactual complex (§ 53), is a relatively 
stable idea ; it is one of those mental processes which 
have come to be used for the sake of what they mean, 
rather than for their own sake ; its intrinsic interest has 
entirely worn off (§ 56). Hence it comes about that the 
word-idea, which originally served to clinch a simultaneous 
association of other ideas, tends to replace these ; our 
memory of past events is very frequently nothing more 
than the reproduction of the form of words which we have 
associated to them; we say that we 'remember' hear- 
ing Patti sing twenty years ago, when all that we really 
remember is our own statement of the fact. (2) Every 
mind has, in virtue of its special constitution, a tendency 
to the formation of connections in one sense department 
rather than in others. Although we could localise a press- 
ure upon the back of the head either by organic sensa- 
tions or by a visual picture of the part touched, most of us 
do, as a matter of fact, use the visual picture. The ordi- 
nary consciousness is dominated by visual ideas {cf. §§4, 
7, 16, 21, 43, 44) ; the average man and woman think only 



2/4 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination 

of how they look, not of how they sound, or of how their 
favourite perfume may offend the noses of their fellow- 
men. Indeed, the word ' idea ' (form, image) bears suffi- 
cient witness to the fact, and further evidence is furnished 
by the phrases: 'Just imagine!' ' Figicrez vous ! ' and 
* Stellen Sie sich vor ! ' 

When our memory of a past event is reproductive, then, 
— instead of being merely verbal, — it will be reproduct- 
ive, as a general rule, upon the visual side ; the auditory, 
olfactory, gustatory and tactual reproductions will, if 
they appear at all, be quite vague and wholly subordi- 
nate to their visual associates. Less frequent is the occur- 
rence of an auditory or tactual type of memory, of a 
consciousness dominated not by vision but by the ideas 
of hearing or touch. Memories of this kind have, how- 
ever, been described ; and their existence follows natu- 
rally from the known differences of mental constitution. 

It is to be noted that the predominance of one kind of mem- 
ory, the preference given to connections within a single sense 
department, is rarely carried so far that no other memories are 
at the disposal of consciousness. However strong one's tend- 
ency to visual thought, it is not probable that one will read 
a book entirely by eye, without faint auditory reproductions 
(words heard) and weak innervations of the muscles of the larynx 
(words spoken) . Many people who have a definite leaning in, say, 
the visual direction, are nevertheless able, when occasion arises, to 
think in terms of hearing and touch ; and these supplementary 
memories are susceptible of great improvement by education 
and practice. We must, therefore, recognise a * mixed ' memory 
type, alongside of the visual, auditory and tactual. 

A ' mixed ' memory is, obviously, of greater practical service 
to its possessor than a '■ pure ' memory. In the first place, more 
aspects of the physical world can be reproduced in consciousness, 



§§ 75> 7^- ^^^^ Memory-Idea ; Retention 275 

/.^., memory is more complete ; and secondly, what is remembered 
is remembered in more ways, i.e., memory is more reliable. Just 
as we ' hear ' a lecturer better if we keep our eyes upon his face, 
so we remember an event better if various senses are called 
upon to furnish the idea which reproduce it. 

We have a good instance of the customary predominance of 
vision in the fact that dream-ideas are almost exclusively visual. 
The organic sensations attending an indigestion are translated, as 
it were, into the visual picture of a monster seated upon our chest ; 
the pins and needles of a cramped arm are translated into the 
picture of an acquaintance who nips us with a pair of pincers, etc. 

Since the raw material of memory-ideas consists, in every case, 
of centrally aroused sensations, it is natural that memory should 
obey Weber's law in every instance where the law holds for the 
corresponding peripheral sensations. Thus our memory for bright- 
nesses is relative; the distribution of light and shade in a painting 
is accepted as a correct representation of reality, although the 
landscape painted was, absolutely, very much brighter than any- 
thing on the painted canvas can be. Our memory of a melody 
is also relative (§ 50) ; we recognise it, as it is now played, 
although it may be played in a different key from that in which 
we have heard it rendered on former occasions. On the other 
hand, our memory for colours is absolute. 

§ 76. Retention. — An idea is formed, in correspondence 
with an object or process of the outside world. It lapses 
from consciousness, to be recalled after a certain interval. 
What becomes of it in the meantime } , 

So long as the idea was regarded as a permanent 
'thing,' an unchanging 'bit' of mind, there could be but 
one answer to this question. The idea must be somehow 
conserved, retained, from the time of its formation ; it is 
laid away, unregarded, in the outermost fringe of con- 
sciousness; but it still persists, as a conscious fact, only 



2/6 Recognition, Memory and Imagination 

waiting its time to attract the attention and come to the 
front again. 

We have rejected the view that the idea is a thing, and 
have regarded it always as a process, a becoming. But 
even if we had not, we should be unable to obtain from 
introspection any warrant for the view that the mind is 
a storehouse, containing all the ideas which have at any 
time formed part of our experience, (i) There are many 
occasions when we wish to remember an event or a name 
or a date, but cannot do so ; when we cannot find the 
desired idea, search consciousness as closely as we may. 
If the idea were there, it would surely be discoverable, 

(2) Consciousness is complex enough ; but there is no 
evidence that it is so enormously complex as the theory 
would require. We can hardly imagine what would be 
the complexity of the adult consciousness, if every single 
conscious process had to be stored away. In other words, 
the fact that we forget is as indubitable as the fact 
that we remember. Some events never are remembered. 

(3) The fact that we forget may be brought out in another 
way. If all our ideas were retained by consciousness, 
we should have a complete panorama of our past life ; 
we could pass from idea to idea without a single break. 
The adult reader will need very little introspection to 
assure him that his memory is really fragmentary, that 
there are great gaps in his reproduction of past experi- 
ence. A diary written forty years ago will speak of 
incidents which cannot be reconstructed ; and the friends 
referred to familiarly by their initials will have dropped 
out of mind so completely that the letters are entirely 
meaningless. 

There is no such thing as mental retention, the per- 



§ 76. Retention 2'J'J 

sistence of an idea from month to month or year to year 
in some mental pigeon-hole from which it can be drawn 
when wanted. What persists is the tendency to connec- 
tion (§ 55). The view from my window reminds me of a 
certain Swiss landscape. It may be that certain visual 
qualities or arrangements presented by it were also pre- 
sented by the Swiss landscape ; it may be that the form 
of words which I use to describe its beauties is in part 
the same as that which I use to describe the Swiss scene. 
In either case, the idea of the Swiss landscape is formed 
afreshy r^-formed (under the general conditions of associa- 
tive supplementing), whenever it is suggested by a glance 
from my window. Certain elements in the given idea 
or its supplements have formed certain habits of connec- 
tion ; and these tendencies to connect are realised under 
favourable conditions. The idea of the Swiss landscape is 
'available' (§ 53) ; but I do not keep it by me, ready made. 
When the connection is formed, I have the recognitive 
mood ; I recognise parts of the view as parts of the Swiss 
landscape, and feel at home in regard to them. — How 
definite the recognition is, in a particular case, will depend 
upon circumstances ; I may have simply the indefinite idea 
that I have 'seen something like this view before.' 

' Nevertheless, there must be retention somewhere/ the reader 
may object ; ' for how could the tendency to connect persist with- 
out it?' The objection is valid. But we must look for retention 
not in consciousness, but in the physiological processes which 
constitute its condition. The cerebral cortex is retentive. When 
a certain group of cells has been exploded in a certain way, it 
retains a disposition to explode again in the same way ; every 
exercise of nervous function leaves behind it a functional dispo- 
sition. The Swiss landscape cells, having been all exploded 
together, are disposed to explode together again, when any one 



2/8 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination 

member of the group is exploded by a present stimulus. The 
strength of the functional disposition in a particular case depends 
upon practice, i.e., the frequency of common functioning in the 
past, and upon bodily tendency. 

§ "jy. Memory and Cognition. — We have seen that a 
peripherally aroused idea, if it is of frequent occurrence, 
ceases to be recognised and becomes cognised. Its cen- 
tral supplements drop off, and the * at home ' mood changes 
to the * of course ' mood. 

We have a precisely parallel process in the case of 
memory. A centrally aroused idea, if it is of frequent 
occurrence in consciousness, ceases to be remembered, 
and becomes cognised. Its central supplements fall away, 
and the recognitive mood gives place to the cognitive. 

We solve a geometrical problem, e.g., by the help of 
definitions, axioms, postulates, and the results of our solu- 
tion of previous problems. As we work, these postulates 
and previous solutions occur to us ; their ideas are centrally 
aroused. But they need not bear the memory mark : they 
need not be supplemented by the ideas of the book from 
which we learned them, of our early struggles with their 
difficulty, of the schoolroom, of the master who taught us, 
etc., and they need not bring the mood of familiarity with 
them, — they may be matters of course. Under these cir- 
cumstances we must call them not memories but cognitions. 
K§ 78. The Investigation of Memory. — The experimental 
investigation of memory, like that of recognition, is still 
in its first beginnings. Three problems suggest them- 
selves : (i) How shall we determine the subject's memory 
type, and how educate his less developed memories t (2) 
How long does a reproduction retain its quality, i.e., resist 
the influence of the other contents of consciousness, and 



§ y8. The Investigation of Memory 279 

remain what it originally was, an exact photograph of a 
physical object or process ? (3) What is the range of 
memory ; i.e., how many connections can be formed in a 
given time? 

No one of these three questions has been satisfactorily 
answered, though something can be said upon each topic. 

Method. — (i) The best way to determine memory type is 
to examine one's memory-ideas introspectively, to ascertain what 
one's memory of a given event actually is. This method, how- 
ever, can be safely used only by a highly practised and impartial 
observer. Consciousness must be taken ' off its guard,' at all 
times and seasons, and all sorts of memories scrutinised. It is 
important to note not only what has been remembered, but also 
what has been forgotten : the subject must imagine the total event, 
which his memory represents, and see how much of the imagina- 
tion is indicated by the memory. 

Another method is that of description. Write out all that you 
remember of an occurrence, and go over your description care- 
fully, noting what kind of incidents are recalled (things seen, 
things heard, etc.), and what omitted. — Something may also be 
done by judicious questioning, by the method of suggestion. 
Suggest some familiar event to the subject, and note how accu- 
rately he is able to reproduce it. Introspection by the subject 
himself will be of great assistance here. 

. A rudimentary memory can best be trained by the method of 
reproduction. If the subject has a poor visual memory, show him 
series of simple visual designs, and let him reproduce them on 
paper after a brief interval. As his memory improves, the com- 
plexity of the designs must be increased, and the interval length- 
ened. If he has a poor auditory memory, let him have passages 
read aloud to him, and attempt, after a given interval, to repeat 
what he heard. If he has a poor tactual memory, let him practise 
a finger-exercise upon the piano keyboard, until his fingers run 
' of themselves ' ; or let him close his ears, and repeat some famil- 
iar sentence aloud, until he has the ' feel ' of the words in his 



28o Recognition^ Memory mid Imagination 

throat. The attention must, of course, be concentrated as exclu- 
sively as possible upon that aspect of the stimulus which it is 
desired to remember. 

(2) The method of description is, perhaps, the best for testing 
the quahtative accuracy of memory. No investigation, however, 
has as yet been made. Another possible method is that of cojn- 
parison. The subject calls up a memory-idea, visual, auditory, 
or what not, and when it has become quite clear in consciousness, 
is asked to compare it with a given impression. The impression 
is something which more or less nearly resembles the object which 
the subject's memory-idea represents. 

(3) The range of memory may be tested as follows. Prepare 
a number of nonsense syllables, each consisting of two consonants 
and a vowel, — say, 1000 in all. Form series, quite at random, 
making the series of different lengths: 5, 10, 15, etc. Read a 
series aloud, repeating the reading until you can say the syllables 
through ' by heart.' Note the time, i.e., the number of repetitions, 
required for the memorising of the different series. Care must 
be taken to read always at the same rate, in the same rhythm, 
and with the same degree of attention. 

You will find that, with fairly short series, the range of memory 
is proportional to the time spent in memorising, i.e.,- to the num- 
ber of repetitions. The longer you take to learn, the oftener you 
go over the series, the better you remember. 

The investigation of memory is rendered peculiarly dif- 
ficult by the fact (§ 75) that our memory of an event is not 
a reproduction, an exact representation of it. For prac- 
tical purposes, we may congratulate ourselves that memory- 
ideas, like v^ords, come to be attended to not for what they 
are in themselves, but for what they mean. Even when 
they are, in part, reproductive (as we assumed in our dis- 
cussion of Retention, and as is the case when we recall a 
scene by visual memory, or an air by auditory), the repro- 
duction is exceedingly incomplete, and is attended to not 



§ /S- TJie Investigation of Memory 281 

as a reproduction but as a symbol of a total experience. 
But when we set to work to examine memory, by psycho- 
logical methods, we are at once confronted by the ques- 
tion : What is the particular symbol, reproductive, verbal, 
etc., which this particular subject employs in his memories } 
Until this question has been answered, — and its answer is 
by no means easy, — further investigation is impossible. 

It follows from our description of recognition and memory 
that we cannot recognise and remember an affection. We can, 
of course, recognise and remember an idea of affection (§ 59). 
But when we wish to revive a pleasantness or unpleasantness we 
do so by fixing the attention upon the ideas to which it attached : 
we call back the (pleasant or unpleasant) 'situation.' The mem- 
ory-ideas, which represent the original experience, are, naturally, 
accompanied by the affection which coloured that experience. 

The more complete and accurate the reproduction of the situa- 
tion, the stronger is the affection which attaches to it. As a rule, 
however, the reproduction is so fragmentary, and the new connec- 
tions which its part-processes have formed so numerous, that the 
' revived ' affection is very considerably weaker than its original. 
Indeed, it may have changed to the opposite quaHty. However 
vividly we recall a punishment of our school-days, we cannot feel 
the unpleasantness now as we felt it at the time. And if we suffer 
the reproductive ideas to bring into consciousness the ideas which 
have become associated to them in our subsequent life, the un- 
pleasantness may not be felt at all : we may smile as we recall the 
experience ; unpleasantness has changed into pleasantness. 

In Chapter VII we refused to make any distinction between 
the perception and the idea. It may now occur to the reader that 
the refusal was ill-advised ; that to distinguish recognition from 
memory we have been compelled to distinguish the peripherally 
aroused from the centrally aroused idea ; and that it would make 
our psychology easier if we said that perceptions were recognised 
and ideas remembered. 



282 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination 

As a matter of fact, it is just because the distinction is of practi- 
cal importance only, and not of scientific value, that we refused 
to make it. Practically, in everyday life, there is a difference 
between the recognitive and the memory consciousnesses ; scien- 
tifically, there is no difference. No centrally aroused idea, that is 
to say, is intrinsically a memory-idea : its qualities are the quali- 
ties of peripherally aroused ideas, and its mode of formation does 
not differ from theirs. It is only in virtue of a certain function 
or meaning that it becomes a memory-idea. 

It might be well, perhaps, to reject the term * memory ' alto- 
gether, and to speak only of recognition. But ' memory,' like the 
phrase 'association of ideas,' has been employed by psychology 
for so many centuries, and is rooted so deeply in popular thinking, 
that we can do no more, at present, than give a psychological 
analysis of it, and emphasise the fact that it is not a specific mental 
process or mental faculty. 

§ 79. The Nature and Forms of Imagination. — Psy- 
chologists distinguish two forms of imagination : the 
reproductive or passive, and the productive, active or 
constructive. 

(i) Reprodtictive Imagination. — No idea can enter the 
adult consciousness for the first time without being in some 
way supplemented. There must be part-processes in it 
which, as constituents of other ideas, have formed habits 
of connection. We speak of reproductive imagination 
in cases where the supplementing of a new idea is a re- 
productive supplementing, a supplementing in kind. I 
read a traveller's description of an African forest, and 
picture the forest as I read ; or I receive the score of a 
new opera, and the music si^igs itself to me as I run my 
eye over the printed notes. The visual ideas of the forest 
are derived from the memories of forests which I have 
actually seen ; and the auditory ideas are aroused because 



§ 79- '^^^^ Nature and Forms of Imagination 28 







the printed notes have, from past experience, definite con- 
nections with musical sounds. But the total experience is 
neither a memory nor a recognition. I have neither seen 
the forest nor heard the opera ; and though the reproduc- 
tions have the recognitive mood attaching to them, the 
central ideas, the printed pages, have not. 

Imaginations of this kind are only possible in consciousnesses 
whose corresponding memories are in part reproductive. If my 
reproductive memory is exclusively auditory, I cannot picture the 
African forest, though I can imagine its mysterious noises. If my 
reproductive memory is exclusively visual, I cannot imagine how 
the opera sounds. 

It is to be noted that memory-ideas, especially if they are ver- 
bal, may have among their supplements reproductive ideas which 
are really imaginative, though introspection would regard them as 
true memories. When I say 'I heard Patti sing twenty years ago,' 
the form of words may be all that I remember. But as I think or 
utter the words, they arouse in my mind ideas of a stage, of the 
singer, etc., so that there is every appearance of a visual memory. 
The visual ideas in this case are not reproductions of the original 
scene ; they are a new construction of it, suggested by the words. 
It is impossible to distinguish this ' secondary reproductive mem- 
ory ' from the true reproductive memory, unless we can compare 
our ideas with a more trustworthy account of the event remem- 
bered. Thus I may be sure, from ' memory,' that the singer wore 
a pink dress when I heard her. The form of words has somehow 
become connected in consciousness with the reproductive idea of 
a pink dress, and the whole complex brings the recognitive mood 
with it. My neighbour, however, has positive evidence that the 
dress was white, and not pink. I have imagined the pink, then ; 
although from the point of view of introspection, the experience 
is a memory. 

(2) Constructive Imaginatiott. — The processes which we 
have so far discussed in this chapter, — recognition, mem- 



284 Recognition, Memory and Imagination 

ory and reproductive imagination, — are all, so far as they 
are composed of ideas, instances of simultaneous association. 
We may have recognition at different levels of definiteness, 
in one experience ; as in the illustration * University man ' 
(indefinite recognition), ^ Smith ' (less indefinite), ' that 
Smith ' (definite recognition). This whole process may 
be described as a successive association ; and as each of 
its three terms is accompanied by the recognitive mood, it 
is tempting to speak of it as a process of recognition, and 
so to make recognition itself a successive association. But 
as a matter of fact, the experience contains three succes- 
sive recognitions, each of which is complete in itself. — 
We may have, in the same way, a train of memory-ideas : 
but * a ' memory is a simultaneous association. The same 
thing holds of reproductive imagination. 

In constructive imagination, on the other hand, we have 
an instance of successive association, — of association after 
disjunction. Some of the ideas associated may be central 
and some peripheral, or all alike of central origin. 

Thus suppose that a poet desires to give a description of 
a storm at sea. He has a mass of memory-ideas and of 
reproductive imaginations in consciousness. His attention 
turns from one to another of these, selecting the striking 
incidents, and rejecting those of minor importance. Now 
it may happen that a severe thunderstorm comes within 
his actual experience. The presented ideas are taken into 
consciousness, and worked over by the attention along 
with the rest. The poem is written after the moving in- 
cidents have been detached from their settings, and reas- 
sociated by the attention. 

The result of imagination here is a poem, a series of 
successive verbal associations (judgments). Had we taken 



§ 8o. Ilhisions of Recognition and Memory 285 

the inventor, in place of the poet, for an illustration, we 
should have had as the result of imagination some machine 
or instrument. This is a closer copy of the associations 
found within the imaginative consciousness than the poem 
could be ; the poem is a translation of the imaginative 
ideas, standing to them as a verbal description of the in- 
strument stands to the designer's imagination of it. The 
process of imagination, however, is the same in both cases : 
it is a ' thinking ' or judging not in words, but in reproduct- 
ive ideas. 

Psychologically, then, there is no difference between 
the 'imagination' of the poet and the * thought' of the 
inventor. Both consciousnesses alike are composed pre- 
dominantly of reproductive ideas. The only difference is 
in the material (printed words on bits of metal) which 
expresses the associations found among them. 

§ 80. Illusions of Recognition and Memory. — Illusory 
memories and recognitions are of two kinds : we may re- 
member or recognise something which is really unfamiliar 
to us, and we may fail to recognise or remember some- 
thing which was once familiar. Both types of illusion 
are quite common. 

Most people have had experience of what is called para- 
mnesia, — a 'feeling' that 'this has all happened before,' 
which continues in spite of the knowledge that the experi- 
ence is novel. Various explanations have been offered of 
the phenomenon. The simplest appears to be the follow- 
ing. Certain part-processes of the novel experience are in- 
definitely recognised ; they are vaguely supplemented, and 
evoke the recognitive mood. The vague supplementary 
ideas are checked, forced out of consciousness, by the 
knowledge that the situation has not occurred in previous 



286 Recognition^ Memory and Imccgination 

experience ; but the verbal supplement ' familiar ' still per- 
sists, and carries with it the mood of ' at home.' 

On the other hand, we fail to recognise or to remember 
an impression or situation because we have * forgotten ' it ; 
i.e.^ because its connections with other ideas, at the time 
of its presentation, were not often enough repeated, did 
not attract the attention, did not fit in with our mental 
constitution, etc. (§ 55). We do not remember the events of 
our early childhood, partly because our mental constitu- 
tion was of the * scatter-brained ' type, and no impression 
held the attention for any long time or with any degree 
of power, but more especially because they occurred before 
we had learned to speak fluently, i.e., before they could be 
fixed in our minds by verbal association, and so constantly 
repeated in verbal form. 



CHAPTER XII 

Self-consciousness and Intellection 

§ 8 1. Self-consciousness. — A 'self,' in the psychological 
meaning of the term, is a mind ; the mind which is given 
together with an individual body, and whose constitution 
is determined by that body. My ' self ' is the sum total 
of conscious processes which run their course under the 
conditions laid down by my bodily tendencies. Selfhood, 
that is, is the special and peculiar way in which the 
processes of an individual mind are arranged, in which 
they hold together or break apart, follow or accompany 
one another. The meaning of ' self ' includes the mean- 
ings of 'mind' and of 'mental constitution,' and at the 
same time makes these meanings very definite : the 
* mind ' is thought of as consisting not merely of ' ideas,' 
'feelings,' etc., but of tJicsc ideas and those feelings; and 
the ' mental constitution ' is thought of not as a general 
'reasonableness' or ' sanguineness,' but as the familiar 
and especial reasonableness or sanguineness of a jDartic- 
ular man. 

It is the combination of these two meanings in the 
same word that makes it possible for us to say that every 
individual is a different self. The raw materials of all 
normal minds are the same : a certain limited number of 
sensations and affections. Regarded as minds, then, all 
normal minds are alike. But regarded as selves, they 

287 



288 Self -Consciousness and Intellection 

differ in two ways. In the first place, no two mental 
constitutions are precisely similar ; the ' shape ' of one 
man's mind (§ 35) is never exactly like his neighbour's. 
And secondly, though two men may be so far alike 
mentally that we are obliged to speak of their mental con- 
stitutions as the same, — although the bodily moulds in 
which their mental experience is run are so far similar 
that we speak of both their memories as ' logical ' and 
both their temperaments as 'phlegmatic,' — yet the con- 
crete processes of which their minds are made up are 
dissimilar. The fact that they are born at different 
times, or brought up in different homes, is enough to 
give the stamp of individuality to the groupings of sen- 
sations and affections of which their consciousnesses are 
composed. 

My 'self,' then, is my mind conceived of as working in 
my way. A self-consciousness is a consciousness in which 
the idea of such a psychological self occupies the princi- 
pal place, — is, as it were, the centre of interest to which all 
the other components of that consciousness are referred, 
and from which they receive a special significance. The 
problem which self-consciousness sets us is, therefore, 
twofold: How does one come to have an idea of one's 
own mind, and of the way in which its workings differ 
from those of other minds } And of what part-processes 
is the idea of self, as it appears in the normal conscious- 
ness, ordinarily composed 1 

The second question is the easier of the two to answer. 
There are certain mental processes which come to the 
forefront of consciousness whenever I think of myself, 
which are the invariable constituents of a self-conscious- 
ness. These processes are common, organic and cutaneous 



§ 8 1. Self -Consciousness 289 

sensations (pressures, pains, temperatures, strains, respir- 
atory sensations, etc.); the visual picture of my body, in 
some characteristic attitude and dress ; and the verbal 
idea of ' I ' or ' my.' The reason for the prominence of 
these processes is not far to seek. The organic sensations 
remain, for the most part, practically unchanged, through- 
out the life of the organism, neither advancing nor degen- 
erating. Very few of them rise to the level of ideas (§ 51); 
they are not a medium of communication, as sights and 
sounds are ; they are able to attract the attention more 
exclusively than is usual among sensations, — in other 
words, they have an unusually strong affective tone, and 
so are liable to be swamped in feelings (§ 56); they are 
* subjective ' processes, not representative of objects or 
processes of the world outside our own body. The visual 
picture of the body or of parts of it is, also, always with 
us ; we cannot escape from it. And ' I ' or ' my ' is the 
verbal associate of both these sets of processes. 

The remaining contents of the idea of self may vary within 
wide limits. Thus the idea may be that of the total self, or of 
some partial self, my national, social or professional self, or my 
moral, rehgious or scientific self. Each of these ideas will con- 
tain a different group of reproductions, or a different set of verbal 
supplements ; though the core of all — the essential components 
of the idea of self — remains the same. 

The idea of self is rendered exceedingly stable by the constant 
repetition of the connections among its components. It is further 
cemented, welded together, by pleasantness and unpleasantness. 
Those who can recall the dawning of self-consciousness in their 
own Hfe assert that the experience has its root in an intense pain 
(common sensation and unpleasantness) or an intense pleasure. 
And in the adult Hfe, the self-idea, except when called up for 
purposes of psychological or philosophical examination, is hardly 



290 Self -Consciousness and Intellection 

ever indifferent. It is often coloured by a strongly affective senti- 
ment; perhaps by vanity or pride (pleasant), perhaps by shame 
or remorse (unpleasant), — according to the circumstances under 
which it appears. Otherwise, it rests upon a background of affect- 
ive temperament : one thinks of oneself with self-satisfaction 
or self-depreciation. In popular parlance, ' self-consciousness ' 
denotes a temperament of this kind, a conceited or bashful dis- 
position. 

The idea of self is plainly not an idea in the precise sense in 
which we defined that term (§51). It is rather a complex of 
ideas and sensations \ a simultaneous association, any part of which 
can be brought into prominence by the attention. Its complexity 
is shown by the fact that we speak of a self ' consciousness ' as 
well as of the 'idea 'of self. Nevertheless, the close connection 
of its components, and its singleness of meaning, lead us to term 
it an ' idea.' 

Complexes of this sort are sometimes called aggt^egate ideas. 
We have already had illustrations of the part played by aggregate 
ideas in the mental life : the complexes which are disjoined by 
the attention in judgment and constructive imagination are aggre- 
gate ideas. 

At this point we are met by a new difficulty. An idea 
is, by definition, the conscious representative of an object 
or process of the physical world. Surely, then, our ter- 
minology is wrong ; for the ' idea of self ' seems to be 
the idea of our inside world. Apparently, we must either 
give up our definition or admit that the ' idea ' of self is 
not an idea at all. 

We may, however, find a means of escape from this 
dilemma by attempting to solve the first of the two prob- 
lems set us by self-consciousness : How do we come to 
have the ' self -idea ' at all t If we can discover the way 
in which this complex is put together, our explanation 



§ 8 1. Self -Consciousness 291 

may help us to decide whether there is any justification 
for calUng it an ' idea ' or not. We pass, then, to the 
iirst of our two questions. 

How do we come to have an idea of our * self ' } 
— We must remember that the individual human being: 
is born into a society, and passes his life in a society. 
We obtain an idea of our mental constitution by noticing 
the differences that exist between those about us, and by 
hearing from them how they look upon us (§ 35). In 
the same way, we obtain an idea of our self, in the first 
instance, from parents, teachers and companions. From 
the time when we begin to understand the words spoken 
in our hearing, we are familiar with the term 'mind,' with 
the fact that minds differ, and with the use of personal 
names or pronouns to denote the different persons to 
whom these minds are ascribed. Under these conditions, 
it is possible to 'objectify' oneself, to imagine how one 
looks, thinks, acts, etc., as if the self were really some- 
thing apart, something of the same kind as the objects or 
processes of one's physical surroundings. When we have 
an idea of self, the self is, so to speak, projected outwards 
into the world, and there surveyed. The idea of the 
internal world is projected into the external world, and 
only thus does it become an idea. 

We have a parallel to this process of objectifying or projection 
not only in the idea of mental constitution, but also in that of 
affection (</. §§ 33, 59). 

We said that the solitary botanist of § 35 would never know 
that he had a leaning to the study of plants, that there was any 
difference between ' human consciousness ' and ' botanist's con- 
sciousness.' He would never form an idea of mental constitution. 
He might, however, — and this is implied in the use of the phrase 



292 Self-Consciousness and Intellection 

' human consciousness ' in that Section, — form some sort of idea 
of himself. Although he is not in the company of other human 
beings, he is in that of animals. And we find that primitive man 
looks upon his whole environment as man-like ; that he anthro- 
pomorphises, i.e., makes men of, not only his fellow-men, but 
animals, plants and inanimate objects as well. 

The question how the idea of self first took shape, how it arose 
in primitive society, is one for the anthropological psychologist 
(§5) to answer. It is evidently a different question from that 
which we have attempted to answer in the text. The child born 
into a civilised society, finds the idea of self ready-made, in the 
minds of his elders, and accepts it from them. Our chief concern 
is with the adult normal consciousness of civilised man, and it 
would take us too far from our topic if we should try to show in 
detail how the idea of self first arose. We may, however, note 
roughly the stages in its formation. 

The individual in a primitive society is, as a rule, too closely 
connected with his family or clansmen to form a very clear idea 
of his individual self. But he is, and he is looked upon as an in- 
dependent centre or source of action. He boasts of his prowess, 
and his fellows praise him ; the tribe wants food, and he has his 
own place in the tribal hunt or raid ; he is skilled in some special 
handicraft, and the rest resort to him to supply them with its prod- 
ucts. Last, but not least, he is named ; he has, perhaps, a title 
descriptive of his courage or skill, or derived from some striking 
event in his life, — a nickname, — in addition to his tribal name. 
All these incidents are, as mental experiences, strongly affective. 
They give us the materials for the formation of a professional or 
social self-idea ; and it is only a matter of time for this to be re- 
fined to the idea of the individual self. Each man is a self; his 
selfhood is brought home to him, sooner or later, as he mixes with 
his fellow-men or struggles with natural forces, and the self-idea, 
once formed, is confirmed, as it were soldered together into an 
indissoluble whole, by pleasantness or unpleasantness. 

We may recall here the statement of § 36 that "belief in the 
activity or spontaneity of mind is almost universal." What has 



§ 82. Intellection 293 

just been said helps us to understand the persistence of this behef ; 
it is as old as man, a belief ingrained in humanity. Indeed, there 
can be no doubt that if we were called upon to define the ' I ' 
which is the verbal expression of our idea of self, to say what we 
mean by it in ordinary conversation, we should have to confess that 
we think, not of the peculiar way in which our mental experience 
hangs together, but of a thing, a permanent and active something 
which lives within our body and directs its movements. Yet in- 
trospection reveals no trace of this ' thing ' ; and introspection is 
more worthy of credence than is an unreasoned belief. Fortu- 
nately, we need not let ourselves be misled, as psychologists, by 
habits of thought and forms of expression. The astronomer speaks 
of a ' sunset,' just as if he were ignorant of astronomy ; but his con- 
formity to custom does not interfere with his having an accurate 
knowledge of the true nature of the phenomenon. Similarly in 
general conversation, we may continue to use the words ' I ' and 
' self in their ordinary meaning ; but as psychologists we must put 
a different interpretation upon them. 

§ 82. Intellection. — The psychology of sensation and 
its derivatives is often spoken of as the psychology of the 
* intellect.' We have been dealing with the intellect, then, 
in our discussions of sensation, of perception or idea, of 
the association of ideas, of memory and imagination, and 
of the idea of self. . 

The v^ord ' intellection ' is used in a narrower sense, to 
cover certain intellectual processes, certain associations and 
the formation of certain ideas, which make their appearance 
in consciousness only at an advanced stage of mental devel- 
opment. The most elementary form of intellection, in this 
meaning of the term, is judgment (§ 54). Other intel- 
lectual processes, which we have not yet discussed, are 
conception or the formation of concepts, and reasoning or 
relating. Further, all intellection involves two processes, 
which we have described, but not described under their 



294 Self-Co7tsciousness and Intellection 

special names : comparison or discrimination, and abstrac- 
tion. 

The older psychology, from which we have received the terms 
* association,' ' memory,' etc., divided the discussion of mind into 
three great chapters, which it entitled Intellect, Feeling and Will, 
and looked upon each of these chapters as concerned with a 
mental faculty or power. Intellect was the power to understand ; 
will the power to choose, act, etc. Modern psychology has kept 
the three terms, but uses them merely for purposes of classifica- 
tion. Thus intellect embraces all those processes enumerated 
above ; feeling covers affection, feeling, emotion, mood, passion, 
temperament, sentiment; will includes conation, attention, volun- 
tary action. 

The ' faculty psychology ' may very well be compared with the 
older '■ vitalistic ' physiology. The older physiologists believed in 
a special vital force or power, — the power of living. When a 
wound healed, it was supposed to heal because the organism pos- 
sessed enough of this vital force to resist the injury. We should 
say to-day that life is the general name for a number of com- 
plicated physical and chemical processes, not an added principle, 
a mysterious something over and above them. Similarly, we no 
longer think of mind as something apart from mental processes, 
and of intellect, feehng and will as faculties with which this some- 
thing is endowed. Mind is a sum of mental processes ; and intel- 
lect, feeling and will are subdivisions of mind, special groups of the 
processes contained in the sum. 

§ 83. The Formation of Concepts. — We have seen that 
the typical memory-idea is a reproduction of a previous, 
peripherally aroused idea ; but that it is inevitable, as time 
goes on, that the reproduction should cease to be entirely 
accurate. In the first place, lapse of time blurs the out- 
lines and obscures the qualities of the reproduction ; and, 
secondly, mental experience is so complex that the con- 
stituents of every idea will have formed connections, more 



§ 83. The Fo7'mation of Concepts 295 

or less numerous, with the constituents of other ideas. If 
I had seen a cat for the first time ten years ago, and 
had never seen another, my present memory of the animal 
would not be very trustworthy : the image would have faded, 
the reproductive supplements of the word ' cat ' would 
have grown indefinite. As it is, I see hundreds of cats in 
ten years ; so that my mental picture of that i:)articular cat 

— unless the animal had certain very striking character- 
istics — is not a true memory at all, but a reproductive 
imagination. 

It is clear that, other things equal, a blurred reproduc- 
tion will be more often aroused by a present idea than 
a very definite reproduction would be. When I see a lion- 
cub, I am at once reminded of a cat ; the reproductive idea 
of ' cat ' is vague enough to be called up by the present 
idea of the cub. If the reproductive cat-idea had been 
photographically accurate, the chances of its recall would 
have been much less. Differences of colour, of form, of 
attitude, of precision of movement, etc., might well have 
sufficed to prevent the formation of the connection lion- 
cub — cat. 

A reproductive idea of this kind, a blurred reproduction, 
which is liable to be recalled by a large number of differ- 
ent ideas, peripherally aroused, is called in psychology an 
abstract idea. It has been compared to what is termed a 
* composite photograph.' If we wish to get a typical face, 

— the typical face of a statesman, or a soldier, or a stu- 
dent, or a consumptive, or a dement, — we photograph a 
number of individual faces upon the same sensitive plate. 
Thus the composite photograph of ten students would be 
obtained by photographing each in turn upon the same 
plate, giving him one-tenth of the normal exposure-time 



296 Self 'Consciousness and Intellection 

required by the plate. As a result, we obtain a picture in 
which the resemblances are emphasised and the differences 
slurred. The abstract idea of a cat, on this analogy, is a 
reproduction in which all the cat-resemblances are empha- 
sised, and all the cat-differences left faint and obscure. 

Now there can be no doubt that the abstract idea might 
take this form in an * all-round ' mind, a mind which was 
equally well developed in all its sense departments. But 
it is not the form which the idea does take, as a matter 
of fact, in the average consciousness. The photographic 
plate is impartial ; it gives equal attention, so to speak, to 
every detail of the picture before it. The organism, on 
the contrary, is always biassed ; it gives more attention to 
some constituents of an idea than to others. My abstract 
idea of a cat, therefore, is a composite photograph only of 
those cat-attributes which have caught my attention ; it is 
more like an impressionist sketch of a cat — the sketch of 
some particular artist, throwing into relief the particular 
characteristics which have ' struck ' him — than like a 
composite photograph of some hundred cats. 

In other and more technical words : the abstract idea 
takes shape as the second term in a large number of 
associations after disjunction. A complex is presented : I 
disjoin it, by help of the attention, — dividing at this or 
that point, as my mental constitution dictates, — and then 
rejoin what I have dissociated. The abstract idea is made 
up of the common elements which have attracted the 
attention in a large number of complexes. 

t 

Thus our abstract idea of * hotel ' (§ 54) is made up of all those 

processes which represent what our experience has taught us to 
look upon as the peculiar hotel-attributes. The idea will differ in 
different minds, since hotel-experiences differ. And our own 



§ 83. TJie Foiination of Concepts 297 

abstract idea will vary as our experience broadens. — Thus one 
abstract idea may consist of reproductions of a monotonous 
regularity of structure, cold, scant attendance, exorbitant prices : 
these will be the elements which have attracted the attention in a 
large number of residences at hotels. Another may consist of 
reproductions of luxurious furniture, obsequious service, moderate 
charges : these will be the part-processes disjoined by the atten- 
tion from a number of total hotel- experiences. 

We defined an idea (§ 51) as the conscious representative of a 
single object or process in the outside world. The idea of self 
has already forced us to modify our definition a little : that ' idea ' 
is, in strictness, a simultaneous association of ideas and sensations. 
Nevertheless, we found reasons for letting it pass as an idea 
(§ 81). The same thing holds of the abstract idea. It is not, 
in strictness, an idea, but a complex, made up of residua from 
many ideas : it corresponds not to a single object or process, but 
to a large number of objects or processes in the outside world. 
Unfortunately, ' idea ' is the only term in current use which we 
can employ to designate it. It has been proposed to call it a 
' recept ' : we /-frceive objects, and r<?ceive their salient features 
into our minds. But it is not probable that this word will oust 
the phrase ' abstract idea.' 

When an association after disjunction is an association 
of verbal ideas, v^e speak of it as a judgment. The 
abstract verbal idea is termed a concept. The concept, 
that is, is the predicate-word which is predicable of a large 
number of subject-words. It is the verbal link which 
holds a number of particular ideas together. 

Thus the '■ I ' which is one of the ingredients in our aggregate 
idea of ' self ' is a concept. The ' I ' is the link which holds 
together the various ideas of social position, professional position, 
scientific attitude, rehgious attitude, etc., contained in the self- 
idea. 



SqB Self -Consciousness and Intellection 

There are some abstract ideas which would be extremely vague, 
however accurate the composite photograph of them in conscious- 
ness, if secondary associations were not employed to give them 
definiteness. Take, e.g.^ the idea of a minute of time i^cf. § 29). 
This could be formed only as a composite photograph of all the 
events which can happen or in our experience have happened 
within the space of a minute. The photograph would be worthless. 
In such cases we are either content with the word, the concept, 
or have recourse to external associations. Thus the author's 
abstract ideas of a minute and a second of time — the reproduc- 
tions which carry the meanings of ' minute ' and * second ' when 

the words themselves are not em- 
. ployed — are represented in the 

^y^ ^*S— ^ accompanying Figure. The visual 

'j>'^^^_^..<^ 7 form a, which is the minute idea, 

' /& is plainly a blurred reminiscence of 

CL the seconds' dial of a watch or 

Fig. 9. clock ; and the form b, which rep- 

resents the second, is the picture 
of one of the division-marks upon the circumference of the dial. 
In this case, an experience in early childhood has determined the 
form of the abstract idea for the rest of life. The sign for a 
'second of arc' ("), learned later than the form of the watch- 
dial, has not been able to change the single stroke, which first 
meant a second, into two strokes. 

There is no lack of experiments to show that the concept, the 
verbal associate of the abstract idea, is the most prompt and 
ready supplement of a given impression. We have no doubt that 
a particular impression is a ' sound ' ; but we may be very doubt- 
ful as to its exact nature. We have no doubt that two given 
impressions are ' different ' ; but we may be wholly unable to say 
wherein their difference consists. We have no doubt that a face 
is ' famihar 'to us ; but we may be completely at a loss to de- 
scribe the circumstances under which it became familiar. 

Method. — Set down the points of a pair of drawing compasses 
upon the skin, as explained in § 44, starting from so small a se- 



§ 84. Reasoning 299 

paration of the points that but a single impression is sensed. 
Gradually increase the separation, till the two points are distin- 
guishable. You will find at this stage that though the subject is 
certain of the duality of the impression (general concept), he is 
entirely unable to state the direction of the straight line joining 
the two points (more special concept). — In the same way, cuta- 
neous movement is perceived sooner than the direction of the 
movement ; a stimulus is cognised as a light stimulus before its 
specific quality can be made out, etc. 

Pathology confirms our position, showing that concepts, which 
are most often associated to given ideas, are also more firmly 
attached to them than are any other verbal supplements. When 
memory begins to fail, with advancing age, it is the concrete 
words which are first forgotten : personal names, particular names 
of all kinds. Abstract words, concepts, remain longest of all. 
It is hardly possible to forget that a certain complex of visual 
stimuli is a ' man ' ; it is quite possible to forget that it is 
' George.' 

§ 84. Reasoning. — Reasoning is the name given to a 
successive association of judgments. It is thus the verbal 
counterpart of the reproductive processes involved in con- 
structive imagination. As total processes, the reproduc- 
tive associations of the poet or inventor and the verbal 
associations of the scientific thinker are one and the same : 
both are a series of associations after disjunction. The dif- 
ference in the nature of the constituent part-processes, the 
difference between reproductive and verbal ideas, points 
simply to a difference of mental constitution. 

In every association 'two ideas are brought into connec- 
tion. When the connection itself has become the object 
of attention, when, i.e.y we have formed an idea of connec- 
tion, as distinct from the ideas which are connected, we 
speak of it as relation. Now reasoning, like the verbal 
simultaneous association, and like the judgment, has upon 



300 Self -Consciousness and Intellection 

it the mark of completeness, of finality. This plainly 
means that reasoning, as defined above, is possible only 
when we have among our available stock of ideas an ex- 
plicit idea of relation ; for unless we know a relation when 
we see it, we may lengthen out our series of judgments 
indefinitely, on the pattern of a train of ideas, and pass our 
goal without realising that we have attained it. Reason- 
ing, then, implies an idea of relation ; an idea which guides 
us in our argument, as the idea of movement guides us in 
the performance of an action. 

What are the part-processes contained in the idea of 
relation 1 And how is the idea formed } — The idea may 
be reproductive or verbal. In the former case, it consists 
of a picture of certain objects or processes as somehow 
bound or chained or clamped together ; in the latter, sim- 
ply of the word * relation,' auditory, visual or tactual. 
The idea is formed very much as the ideas of mind, self 
and mental constitution are formed. We grow up among 
people who have the idea of relation ; who speak in terms 
of cause and effect, likeness and difference, substance and 
attribute, whole and part, etc. 

As to the original formation of the idea of relation, in the past 
history of the human race, we can do no more than speculate. 
It must be remembered (i) that the relation expressed in the 
judgment is a relation of parts now dissociated, but originally 
together in the aggregate idea; and (2) that primitive man 
looked at everything from an unconsciously anthropomorphic 
standpoint. Since in judgment the part is drawn out of the 
whole, the attribute drawn out of the substance, the effect drawn 
out of the cause, it may be that a pictorial idea of connection 
or relation took shape at a very early stage of thought. What 
a man makes or does ' belongs ' to him ; that is, his mind 
lengthens out to it, holds to it, as if by a physical bond. If the 



§ 85. Comparison or Discrimination, and Abstraction 301 

clouds are looked on as men who make the rain, the sun as a man 
who makes the rainbow, etc., this idea of belonging, of being con- 
nected, might easily assume definite form. From the reproductive 
or pictorial idea to the verbal, and from the more concrete to the 
more abstract verbal idea, are steps of no difficulty. 

We have indications of the pictorial origin of the idea in the 
word ^connection' (Lat. nectere, to bind), and in the German 
'Beziehung' {ziehen; cf. 'tie') and ' Verhaltniss ' {Jialten ; cf. 
'hold'). 'Relation' suggests to us that the association is an 
association after disjunction {re-ferre, to put back again). 'Asso- 
ciation ' itself emphasises the after, the temporal position of that 
which is associated {ad-socius, from seqiior, I follow) . 

§85. Comparison or Discrimination, and Abstraction. — 

We speak of a comparison of two impressions when the 
ideas which they arouse in consciousness call up the 
verbal associate 'alike' or 'different.' Discrimination is 
used, in strictness, to express the process which termi- 
nates with the verbal association ' different,' but its mean- 
ing has been extended to include judgments of likeness as 
well ; so that it is used synonymously with comparison. 
We have in this process of comparison or discrimination, 
then, a case of verbal association. Sometimes the associa- 
tion is simultaneous ; the word ' comes up,' and com- 
parison is at an end. Sometimes the association is succes- 
sive, the impression being judged part by part, and the 
word coming only after a series of judgments has been 
passed. Under normal circumstances, every comparison 
which leads to the judgment 'like' is accompanied by 
the recognitive mood. A comparison which leads to the 
judgment ' different ' has no specific mood attaching to 
it. 

The process of comparison, as thus depicted in outhne, is seen 
to be of a very simple kind. Its place in mental development, 



302 Self -Consciousness and Intellection 

however, is a high one : for the reason that it presupposes the 
formation of the concepts of Hkeness and difference. Verbal 
association and judgment are, in themselves, comparatively simple 
processes ; but when the word associated or predicated is a fully 
formed concept, we realise that the simplicity of form is decep- 
tive, that much mental elaboration lies behind. 

We may compare two peripherally aroused ideas, two central 
ideas, or a peripheral with a central idea. In the first case, we 
turn quickly from idea to idea, having in mind at any given 
moment the actual presentation of the one and a direct reproduc- 
tive image of the other. In the second, we have in mind, as a 
rule, a verbally supplemented reproduction of each of the com- 
pared ideas, and turn the attention quickly from the one to the 
other as before. In the third, we have a presentation on the one 
side, and some memory symbol (word, part-reproduction, etc.) 
on the other. It seems, from laboratory experience, that we 
never attempt to compare a presented idea with a complete 
reproductive picture of another ; distrust of the reproduction 
appears to have become ' instinctive ' with us. 

It might be thought that as the mood of ' at home ' attaches to 
the judgment of likeness, a mood of strangeness would attach to 
the judgment of difference. But we must be careful not to con- 
fuse * difference ' with ' lack of familiarity.' If an event is differ- 
ent from what we expected it to be, we do have a mood of 
apprehension or disappointment, a mood which in its weakest 
form could best be described as that of ' strangeness.' But many 
differences are natural, matters of course ; these leave us indiffer- 
ent. And others are desired and looked for, so that their dis- 
covery puts us into a pleasurable mood, that of wish fulfilled. 
The finding of a likeness is always, intrinsically, reassuring, and 
therefore pleasant {cf. what was said of recognition, § 70). On 
occasion, of course, it may be unpleasant. If we are comparing 
two molluscs, in the hope that one of them represents a hitherto 
unknown species, and both prove to belong to the same, the 
recognitive mood may be overcome by the emotion of disgust or 
the sentiment of unsuccessful thought (§ 90). 



§ 85. Co7nparisoii or Discrimination, and Abstraction 303 

Abstraction is the name given to that movement of the 
attention over a complex of ideas, whereby the complex 
is dissociated, and certain parts of it are rejoined in a 
judgment or constructive imagination. We are said to 
' abstract from ' those portions of the complex which do 
not arrest the attention, while, on the other hand, the 
parts lifted out of the whole by the attention are termed 
* abstractions.' 

Thus an abstract idea is an idea in which we abstract from the 
unessential features of the aggregate idea from which it is derived. 
It is itself an abstraction, because it is only a part of the aggre- 
gate idea. The mechanism of the process has been described 
above (§ TyZ~). 



CHAPTER XIII 

Sentiment 

§ 86. The Nature of Sentiment. — When we were ana- 
lysing emotion, we found that its core or centre is made 
up of a strong feeling, by which the current train of ideas 
is interrupted. The organism has to face a situation. It 
does this by way of passive attention ; the situation over- 
whelms it, takes undisputed possession of consciousness. 
At the same time the body falls into some characteristic 
attitude ; a characteristic group of organic sensations is 
aroused. And the central feeling is reinforced by a num- 
ber of associated ideas. 

If in our description of this total process we write 
'strongly affective judgment' for 'strong feeling,' we have 
the essentials of the sentiment. A situation has to be 
faced. It is in this case too complex to be faced by way 
of passive attention ; the active attention must play upon 
it, and a judgment be passed. A 'situation,' as we have 
seen (§ 59), is a serious matter : the judgment will be 
strongly pleasant or unpleasant. In either case, it is 
reinforced by other judgments, concepts, or reproductive 
ideas ; while at the same time expressive movements occur, 
and give rise to organic sensations. 

The sentiment, then, stands to the emotion precisely as 
active stands to passive attention. It is the total affective 

304 



§ 86. The Nature of Sentiment 305 

experience which arises when we face a situation by way 
of active attention, — by means of a judgment. 

It is the situation — the materials disjoined by the attention 
for re-association — which determines the affective quahty of the 
sentiment, as it ordinarily {cf. § 59) does that of the emotion. 
Hence the sentiment may be either pleasurable or unpleasiirable. 
The process of judging is also accompanied by affection : it will be 
pleasant or unpleasant according as the effort involved in the 
attention is moderate or excessive (§§ 37, t^^). Judgment itself, 
the completed re-association, is intrinsically pleasant, just as is 
recognition or instinctive action (§ 70). But its pleasantness is, 
of course, often swamped by the unpleasantness of the situation. 

Active attention frequently relapses into passive. Hence it is 
natural that the sentiment, which is developed out of emotion, and 
is characteristic of a higher stage of mental differentiation, should 
readily slip back into emotion. Suppose, e.g., that I sit down to 
read a story. At first, I have various aesthetic sentiments : I linger 
over the beauty of the style, or the harmony of the incidents. I 
have, too, various intellectual sentiments : I feel that the tale is 
true to life, that its scenes are self-consistent. But as I read, I 
grow absorbed, — I cease to be '■ critical,' i.e., to be actively 
attentive. The story takes possession of me, and the writer 
'■ moves ' me as he will. Sentiment has been entirely replaced 
by its simpler counterpart, emotion. 

It must not be supposed that every affective experience which 
can be referred to a judgment is a sentiment. Many of our judg- 
ments are not judgments at all in the psychological sense ; they 
are ready-made formulae, received from others, not won by any 
exercise of the active attention on our own part. We are so 
thoroughly accustomed to throw our mental experience into logical 
form, that we may think or speak of a situation as if we had judged 
it, when really it has seized us, taken possession of us, and been 
' felt ' as a whole, in an emotion. ' Why are you so disgusted ? ' we 
may be asked. ' I am disgusted because I have been cheated.' 
The answer is psychologically misleading. It is not the judgment 
* I have been cheated ' that forms the centre of the emotion of dis- 



3o6 Sentiment 

gust ; it is the feeling set up by the situation. The judgment ' I 
have been cheated ' is due to a reflection upon the source of the 
emotion ; it is the most convenient way of conveying to the 
enquirer an idea of the reason for the emotion. Here, then, it 
is quite possible to refer the whole experience to a judgment; and 
yet the experience is not a sentiment. 

There is no rule more essential, and no rule more difficult to 
follow, when one is introspectively examining a complex mental 
process, than this : Do not let a judgment about the facts take the 
place of the facts themselves. It is all too easy to glide into a 
series of familiar formulae, which give a rough notion of the ex- 
perience under investigation. The trained and impartial observer 
(§ lo) will be on his guard against the temptation, and will arrest 
himself when he finds that his description is running smoothly, in 
stereotyped expressions and customary phrases. Every fact re- 
quires its own form of words, if it is to be adequately described. 

§ 87. The Forms of Sentiment. — There are four great 
classes of sentiments : the intellectual or logical, the ethi- 
cal or social, the aesthetic and the religious. 

The intellectnal sentiments are the affective experiences 
M^hich grow up round the judgments 'This is true' and 
'This is false, as a matter of knowledge.' The ethical 
sentiments attach to the judgments 'This is good or 
right ' and ' This is bad or wrong, as a matter of my be- 
haviour to my fellow-men or of theirs to me ' ; the (esthetic 
to the judgments 'This is beautiful' and 'This is ugly'; 
and the religions to the judgments 'This is ' and 'This is 
not sanctioned by divine command, or in accordance with 
the divine plan for the government of the universe.' 

We cannot attempt here to trace the formation of the 
abstract ideas of 'truth,' 'goodness,' 'beauty,' etc.; we 
must take it for granted that they have been formed, 
after the fashion of the ideas of ' self ' and ' relation ' 



§ 88. The Esthetic Sentiments 307 

(§§ 81, 84). Taking the concepts for granted, we can 
see how natural it is that the intellectual, moral and re- 
ligious judgments should be strongly affective processes. 
It is of the utmost practical importance to know whether 
facts agree or do not agree with our opinions, whether 
reports are true or false, whether an action is good or 
bad, whether our friends will regard our behaviour, under 
certain circumstances, as right or wrong, whether a line 
of conduct is approved or disapproved by the supreme 
power of the world. The practical importance of the 
aesthetic judgment is not so obvious. Indeed, the aes- 
thetic sentiment, the power of the beautiful and the ugly 
to attract the attention, has always been something of a 
puzzle to psychologists ; and it cannot be said that the 
puzzle has even yet been satisfactorily solved. 

§ 88. The iEsthetic Sentiments. — Modern psychology has 
devoted more attention to the aesthetic sentiments than to 
the other three groups. This is partly due, no doubt, to the 
difficulty which they present to psychological analysis ; 
the intellectual, ethical and religious sentiments are more 
matters of course. But it is also due, in part, to the 
fact that the aesthetic sentiments can be examined under 
experimental conditions and with comparatively simple 
materials. 

It is customary to distinguish five aesthetic sentiments : 
those of beauty, ugliness, the sublime, the comic and the 
tragic. The two first are of a purely aesthetic character ; 
the third may be either mixed or pure ; the two last are 
never wholly aesthetic in nature. 

I. Under the heading of 'beauty' and 'ugliness' there 
are five principal forms of the aesthetic judgment : the judg- 
ment of visual form (architecture, and line in the plastic 



308 Senthnent 

and graphic arts), colour scheme (colour in the plastic and 
graphic arts), rhythm (dancing, musical form), harmony 
(music) and melody (music). We need here speak only 
of the first, second and fourth of these {cf. §§ 47, 48). 

(i) Visual figures present two aspects for aesthetic 
appreciation: articulation or division, and contour or 
outline. 

The most pleasing division of a simple visual form was, 
originally, the symmetrical division. Symmetry is repe- 
tition with reversal : the two hands, two eyes, two halves 
of a circle, etc., are symmetrical. The proportion of parts, 
in a symmetrical figure, is accordingly that of equality, 1:1. 

At a higher level of aesthetic development, the symmet- 
rical division is replaced by what is known as the golden 
section : a division of the figure at a point so chosen that 
the dimensions of the whole are to those of the larger part 
as the dimensions of the larger part are to those of the 
smaller. The proportion of parts in a figure divided at 
the golden section is, approximately, 3:5. 

Even to-day symmetry holds its own as a principle of aesthetic 
division. A great deal of decorative work (on walls, ceilings, 
porcelain, etc.) is of the symmetrical type. And we see traces of 
its influence in the duplication which is so common a feature of 
graphic composition. One poplar in a landscape looks ugly ; two 
make the picture a 'good composition.' So with two cows in a 
meadow, two human figures on a sea-coast, etc. 

Method. — Prepare long series of simple geometrical figures, — 
crosses, ovals, rectangles, etc., — varying the proportions little by 
little throughout the series. Lay them before the observer, and 
let him pick out the most pleasing. The first few chosen will be 
figures whose proportions are in the near neighbourhood of the 
golden section ; the last will, in all probability, be symmetrical. 
All the rest will be indifferent or displeasing. 



§ 88. The u^sthetic Sentiments 309 

It must be remembered that the eye is subject to certain illu- 
sions : vertical distances, e.g., are always overestimated (§ 50). 
Hence in deciding whether the subject has chosen a figure in 
accordance with the rule of the golden section, or of symmetry, 
the experimenter must make allowances for possible illusion. The 
subjective square is not objectively symmetrical ; but it is chosen 
because of its subjective symmetry. The amount of illusion in a 
given case can easily be determined by a few preliminary experi- 
ments. 

As regards contours, not much more can be said than 
that curved lines are, on the whole, more pleasing than 
straight lines. The meeting of two straight lines in a 
right angle seems to be particularly displeasing ; the eyes 
'feel' the jerk involved in the abrupt change of direction. 

(2) Nature presents us with so many and so various 
colour schemes, and painting consists so largely of an 
imitation of nature, that it is impossible to formulate gen- 
eral principles of aesthetic grouping in the sphere of col- 
our. Rules are laid down, in practice, for the guidance of 
the art-student, as they are for the student of musical 
composition. Thus we may mention the rule of grada- 
tion : sharp contrasts are to be avoided, — unless, of 
course, it is the purpose of the picture to bring them out, 
— by the use of intermediate shades; the juxtaposition of 
complementaries is especially undesirable. The principle 
of compensation requires that a penetrating colour be 
balanced by a less penetrating ; a spot of vermilion must 
be compensated by a large area of dull bluish green, 
placed somewhere in the picture to 'relieve' the red. 
The principle of duplication also holds ; a painting which 
contains a large mass of some particular colour is im- 
proved by the introduction of a smaller patch of the same 
colour in a different quarter; and so on. But although 



3IO Seittiment 

these and similar rules are doubtless indicative of ultimate 
aesthetic principles, they do not take us very far towards 
an understanding of these latter. 

Writers upon colour decoration, ornamentation, recognise two 
types of colour scheme : the dominant and the contrasted. The 
dominant scheme employs a single key-colour, and obtains an 
aesthetic effect by the arrangement of different ' shades ' and 
^ tints ' of this colour (mixtures of the pure with white hght, at 
different intensities and in different proportions: § 12). Thus if 
red were chosen as the key-colour, the scheme would be com- 
posed of red, and of pinks and dark reds. The contrasted 
scheme employs two key-colours, and interweaves these with 
their shades and tints into an aesthetic whole. 

Method. — The most pleasing juxtapositions and arrangements 
of colours could be investigated by the help of a long series of 
coloured papers. Strips must be cut, and pasted side by side on 
a constant background (black or white cardboard). It would 
probably be found that the subject, though very sure of what was 
positively ugly, would be in considerable doubt as to the compara- 
tive beauties of the '■ pretty ' combinations. 

(3) The most pleasing musical harmony v^as, originally, 
that of the octave. As the aesthetic judgment developed, 
however, the place of the octave was taken by other, less 
unitary tone mixtures. To us the octave sounds 'thin' 
and 'poor' ; the major third (the union of tonic and medi- 
ant of a major scale) is the harmony which brings with it 
the greatest amount of aesthetic pleasure. The octave, 
then, may be compared to the symmetrical division of a 
simple visual form, and the major third to its division at 
the golden section. 

Method. — Experiments can be made with tuning-forks or 
piano clangs, as described in § 49. The subject is required to 
judge of the aesthetic effect of the chords and intervals sounded. 



§ 88. TJie u^stJietic Se7itiments 311 

2. The sentiment of sublimity is more complex than 
that of beauty or ugliness. It contains two central judg- 
ments : 'This is beautiful' and 'This is great.' The total 
experience may be pleasant or unpleasant, according to 
the meaning of the second of these judgments. If 'great' 
means * so great that my attention cannot grasp it,' the 
experience is unpleasant : the pleasure of beauty is over- 
come by the unpleasantness of the emotion of fear, 
or the sentiment of awe. If 'great' means 'splendid' 
or 'magnificent,' the whole experience is pleasurable; 
the sentiment of beauty is simply enhanced. Under 
these circumstances, the sublime is to the beautiful as 
a ' handsome ' is to a ' pretty ' face. 

3. The sentiments of the ludicrous and the tragic are 
also complex. The latter combines the judgment 'This is 
beautiful' with the judgment 'This is undeserved'; there 
is a mixture of the aesthetic sentiment of beauty with the 
ethical sentiment of injustice. The total experience may 
be pleasant or unpleasant, according as the one or the 
other sentiment predominates.^ — The pleasurable effect of 
a 'comic' situation is difficult to explain. The situation 
appears to call forth the judgments 'This is beautiful,' or 
rather 'This is pretty,'and 'This is contradictory.* There 
is a quick oscillation of the pleasure of the former and the 
unpleasantness of the latter judgment. 

One is tempted to compare the sentiment of the ludicrous with 
the complex of organic sensations which we call tickling (§§ 19, 
59). On its cutaneous side, tickling consists of light pressures 

1 It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to state that the scientific meaning of the 
terms ' tragedy ' and ' tragic ' differs from their popular meaning. The news- 
papers speak of a murder or a fire as a * tragedy,' when as a matter of fact the 
situation described arouses the emotion of horror or disgust, not the tragic sen- 
timent. (^Cf.% 2.) 



312 Sentiment 

(pleasant) which are intermittent (unpleasant : § 34) . As there 
are no such things as mixed feelings (§ 32), we must have in tick- 
ling, cutaneously regarded, an alternation of pleasantness and un- 
pleasantness. A '■ comic ' situation would seem to give rise to just 
such an alternation, a sort of mental tickling. It is ' pretty ' (pleas- 
ant), but self-contradictory (logical sentiment of contradiction; 
unpleasant). Neither the pleasantness nor the unpleasantness is 
very intensive : if * prettiness ' rises to beauty, we are jarred by the 
contradictory element, and if the self-contradiction is too pro- 
nounced, no aesthetic sentiment is aroused at all. We may note 
that laughter is the natural expression of the comic sentiment, and 
that some psychologists derive all laughter from that which follows 
upon tickling (§ 59). 

We indicated two modes of classifying the emotions 
(§ 58): they may be divided into two groups, as emotions 
of the present and the future, or emotions of subject and 
emotions of object. The aesthetic sentiments appear to be 
always sentiments of the present. And they appear, also, 
to be always objective. If the sentiment of beauty is sub- 
jectified, we have not a sentiment but an emotion : the 
beautiful scene or object 'charms' or 'entrances' or 'in- 
toxicates * us, takes possession of consciousness ; the 
hideous object sets up the emotion of repugnance or 
disgust. 

There is a possible exception to this rule in the dignity which 
is the subjective side of sublimity (sublimity in its second sense, 
as splendid beauty). Dignity would seem to be a sentiment 
rather than an emotion. 

We may note that there are degrees of the aesthetic sentiment, 
as there are of emotion (§ 60) . A landscape is pretty, beautiful 
or sublime ; a face comely or handsome, plain, ugly or hideous ; 
a situation funny, ludicrous or ' excruciatingly ' funny, 

§ 89. The Basis of JEsthetic Sentiment. — We said above 
that no completely satisfactory account of the origin of the 



§ 89. TJie Basis of ^Esthetic Senthncnt 3 1 3 

aesthetic sentiment, no adequate explanation of the power 
of the beautiful and the ugly to hold the attention, has as 
yet been given. We may now look briefly at some of the 
suggestions which have been made. 

(i) It has been asserted that the five forms of the aes- 
thetic sentiment proper can all be traced to peculiarities of 
human structure or function. Thus the human figure is 
symmetrically built ; hand repeats hand, and foot, foot. 
Moreover, waist repeats neck, abdomen repeats chest, legs 
repeat arms. The proportions of height and girth are 
approximately those of the golden section : a height of 
5 feet goes with a girth of 3. Rhythm, again, is given in 
walking and breathing ; melody, in the natural rise and fall 
of the voice (§§ 47, 50). Inharmonic combinations of 
tones produce beats, jarring intermittences of sound, which 
are intrinsically unpleasant (§ 34). Lastly, the apprecia- 
tion of colour schemes may have its basis partly in the 
existence of complementary or contrasting colours (§ 12), 
partly in the characteristic colour patterns of animals 
lower in the scale of organic development than our- 
selves. 

(2) The polar opposite of this mode of explanation is 
found in a general principle of beauty, accepted by many 
writers upon aesthetic questions, — the principle of * unity 
in multiplicity.' The beautiful impression is that which is 
at the same time one and more than one. A colour scheme 
or a melody is a single whole ; yet it is an articulated whole, 
a whole whose division is as noticeable as its singleness. 
The primitive aesthetic judgment is unable to cope with 
any but the most simple articulation : symmetry and the 
octave are therefore found beautiful at a time when the 
major third would be dissonant, and division at the golden 



3 14 Sentiment 

section a division which forbade any appreciation of the 
unity of the divided figure. 

(3) It has been suggested that the aesthetic sentiment 
develops from what we have called the 'feeling' (§ 56), 
a complex composed of an idea and a strong affection. 
Since an idea represents an object or process in the out- 
side world, the affection which attaches to it will, it is 
said, be made up not only of the affections attaching to 
its component sensations, but of these plus an affection 
aroused by attention to the idea as a whole ; contents and 
form of the idea will both alike be affectively toned. Out 
of the pleasantness or unpleasantness which characterises 
every idea, -regarded not as a mass of sensations but as an 
idea, as a form, grow the higher aesthetic sentiments. 

The first explanation is evidently imperfect. Granted that the 
proportions and activities of the form peculiar to one's own 
species are pleasant, there seems to be no reason in the fact for 
the progress of aesthetics, the extreme attention devoted to aes- 
thetic influences by civilised peoples. The second is logical, a 
reflection upon the facts, not psychological (§ 86). The third 
does not account for the origin of the aesthetic attitude : it simply 
puts that attitude back as early as the idea, whereas we have 
dated it from the appearance of the judgment, an association of 
ideas. The problem, therefore, is no nearer solution than it was 
in our mere statement of it. 

Where there is so much disagreement as to general principles, 
it will be readily understood that there is little agreement upon 
special points. It is not w^orth while, at present, to enumerate the 
special hypotheses proposed by different authors. For although 
it may be true that there is no single psychological law which will 
explain all the phenomena of the aesthetic sentiment, but that a 
number of distinct laws are at work to produce the final result, 
still a list of the special laws hitherto formulated would be just as 
unsatisfactory as is each of the general principles stated in the text. 



§ 90. TJie IntcUcctital Sentiments 315 

§ 90. The Intellectual Sentiments. — The intellectual or 
logical sentiments are the affective experiences which 
cluster round judgments of truth or falsehood. The situ- 
ation which evokes the judgment is, in this case, not a 
concurrence of processes in the outside world, but a con- 
currence of associations in consciousness ; thought itself, 
a mental situation, is disjoined by the attention for re- 
association. We have, therefore, in the intellectual senti- 
ments another instance of that ' projection outwards ' or 
'objectification' which we have seen to be illustrated by 
the formation of the ideas of affection (§ 59) and of self 

(§ 81). 

The intellectual sentiments can be classified, in part, 
upon the same principles as the emotions (§58). (i) They 
fall into two great groups as sentiments of the present and 
sentiments of the future. Thus curiosity (§ i) is a senti- 
ment of the future, which may become a sentiment of the 
present in the form of successful thought (curiosity ful- 
filled), unsuccessful thought (curiosity unfulfilled) or baffled 
thought (curiosity deferred). 

(2) The intellectual sentiments fall also into two great 
groups as objective and subjective sentiments. Each 
occurs in a more objective and a more subjective form. 
Thus we have : 

OBJECTIVE SENTIMENTS SUBJECTIVE SENTIMENTS 

Objective \ Ag'-e^">^"t- Objective \ T™*" ^ 

( Contradiction. ( Falsehood. 

Subjective \ ' Subjective \ ' ^ 

(Difficulty. (Disbelief. 

(3) There are, however, certain sentiments which have 
no emotive counterparts. These are the oscillatory senti- 
ments, which accompany a rapid alternation of the atten- 



3i6 Sentiment 

tion between the two possible predicates of the judgment. 
Thus midway between the sentiments of agreement and 
contradiction Hes the oscillatory sentiment of obscurity ; 
between ease and difficulty of thought lies confusion; 
between truth and falsehood, ambiguity ; and between be- 
lief and disbelief, doubt. This form of experience is, of 
course, impossible in cases where only the passive atten- 
tion is exercised, i.e., in the emotion : oscillation between 
pleasantness and unpleasantness can take place only when 
the active attention is present to oscillate. 

Each one of these sentiments has a corresponding mood. 
Thus the mood of belief is acquiescence ; that of disbelief, incre- 
duUty ; that of doubt, indecision. And each one of them may, in 
course of time, lose its affective tone, and give place to a state of 
indifference. 

Method. — The intellectual sentiments might be investigated in 
the following way. Prepare a number of reasoned statements, — 
or select them from the lists given in the text-books of formal 
logic, — some of which are correct, while others contain various 
logical fallacies. Let the subject give a careful introspective ac- 
count of the ' feelings ' aroused by their reading. — It is possible 
that a systematic employment of this method would enable us to 
distinguish a greater number of special intellectual sentiments 
than have hitherto been described. 

A rough notion of the number and forms of the intellectual sen- 
timents can be obtained by introspection of consciousness during 
the reading of a piece of scientific reasoning, or the hearing of a 
scientific lecture. The array of arguments as ' first,' ' secondly,' 
' thirdly,' etc., arouses the mood of acquiescence ; an emphatic ' if,' 
the sentiment of doubt ; a ' but,' the sentiment of contradiction ; 
a '^Now, then, we can see ..." the sentiment of truth; etc. 

Literature. — Literature, prose and poetry is, perhaps, the form 
of art which gives rise to the most complex sentiments. We 
have in reading it (i) the aesthetic sentiments of rhythm and 



§ 91- Social or Ethical^ Religioiis Sentiments 317 

musical harmony; (2) the intellectual sentiments of agreement 
and truth ; (3) oftentimes an ethical or religious sentiment, at- 
taching to the contents of the passage read ; and (4) oftentimes 
a secondary aesthetic sentiment, accompanying the reproductive 
ideas which supplement the printed words in our minds. We 
can understand this many-sided effect of literature when we 
remember the large part played by verbal ideas in every type 
of consciousness. 

§ 91. The Social or Ethical and the Religious Sentiments. 

— The situation which arouses an ethical sentiment is any 
action or group of actions, performed by oneself or an- 
other, of which the term 'good,' 'bad,' 'right' or 'wrong' 
may be predicated. 

It is plain that we have two great classes of these senti- 
ments: the subjective, attaching to judgment of our own 
action, and the objective, attaching to judgment of the 
action of others. Among the subjective may be counted 
shame and pride, humiliation and vanity, guilt and inno- 
cence, freedom and restraint, etc. Among the objective 
are trust and distrust, gratitude and ingratitude, envy and 
compassion, jealousy and magnanimity, emulation and 
self-effacement, indebtedness and patronage, forgiveness 
and revenge, etc. It is plain, too, that some of these sen- 
timents occur in a more subjective and a more objective 
form : thus praise and blame are the objective correlates 
of pride and shame, justice and injustice the objective 
correlates of innocence and guilt, security and insecurity 
the subjective correlates of trust and distrust, honour the 
subjective correlate of duty. But it is impossible to make 
out a complete list, or to set up a satisfactory classification, 
of the ethical sentiments. The situation judged is, as a 
rule, so important to us, so absorbing, that the sentiment 



3 1 8 Sentiment 

passes over into an emotion ; guilt and innocence become 
hope and fear, envy and compassion are lost in hate and 
affection ('' pity's akin to love"), humiliation changes to 
chagrin, etc. 

Although they spring from a different root, and al- 
though the judgments to which they attach are intrinsi- 
cally different, the religious sentiments are, in the civilised 
society of to-day, most intimately connected with the ethi- 
cal. Many of the experiences mentioned in the previous 
paragraph may be grouped round the religious judgment. 
Further to mention are the sentiments of awe and rever- 
ence, humility and unworthiness, faith and resignation, 
exaltation and remorse, etc. All of these sentiments 
readily pass into emotions. 

Method. — The ethical and religious sentiments could be inves- 
tigated, perhaps, by help of the questionnaire. The questionnaire 
is a series of questions, submitted to a large number of persons 
for introspective answer ; it is a device to secure the advantages 
of comparative introspection (§ 9 ; cf. § 35). 

In the present case, a number of typical instances of conduct 
would need to be collected. The list would be headed by the 
direction : ' Read these cases, one by one, and describe intro- 
spectively the feelings which they arouse in you.' If the persons 
appealed to were well versed in the employment of psychological 
method, their replies might go far to bring order into the existing 
chaos. 

The expression of the sentiments, so far as it has been investi- 
gated, does not differ in kind from that of the emotions. Thus if 
the subject, placed as described in § 33 (2), be shown a prettily 
painted decorative pattern, pulse and breathing are heightened, 
and volume and muscular strength increased. 



CHAPTER XIV 

The Synthesis of Action. The Reaction Experiment 

§ 92. The Synthesis of Action. — In Chapter X we ana- 
lysed and classified the various forms of action, but did 
not attempt an experimental reconstruction of the action- 
consciousness. We have now to make good this omis- 
sion ; to put together the processes which we found to be 
involved in action, and to show by synthesis that our 
analysis was correct. 

The method which enables us to effect the synthesis 
of action, to put together, for experimental purposes, the 
constituents of which the action-consciousness is com- 
posed, is known as the reaction juetJiod. A reaction is 
an artificial action. It is agreed between two persons, 
the * experimenter ' and the 'reactor,' that on the occur- 
rence of a certain sensory stimulus (given by the experi- 
menter) a certain movement shall be made (by the 
reactor). The sensation set up by the stimulus corre- 
sponds to the object-idea in impulsive, etc., action ; the 
simple movement made in response to it corresponds to 
the complicated movements of crouching down, clinching 
the fist, etc. We may make the reaction impulsive, voli- 
tional, etc., as we please, by prearranging the conditions 
under which the experiment is performed. 

The reaction experiment consists, on its objective side, 
in the accurate measurement of the time elapsing between 

319 



320 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

the occurrence of the sensory stimulus and the execution 
of the movement in response to it ; on its subjective 
side, in the introspective examination of the conscious 
processes which run their course during this time, and 
for some 2 sec. before it. The responsive movement 
may follow at once upon the sensing of the stimulus, or 
may be restrained until certain connections have been 
formed in consciousness. In the former case we speak 
of a simple^ in the latter of a compound reaction. 




Fig. io. 



Method. — Figure lo shows one of the sets of apparatus most 
commonly employed in the reaction experiment. A and B are 
different rooms : the reactor sits in the reacting room, B, the 
experimenter, who notes the time taken by the reaction, in the 
registration room, A. Reactor and experimenter are separated 
in order that the reactor's introspection may be undisturbed by 
noise, etc. 

« is a telegraph key. The reaction movement employed 
with this set of instruments consists in the lifting of the first or 
second finger of the right hand from the button of the key. b is 
a steel hammer (§ 29), the head of which can be lowered so as to 



§ 92. The Synthesis of Action 321 

strike upon a steel block placed beneath it. The sound made 
by the fall of the hammer is the stimulus to which the subject in 
the present experiments is to react. <r is a screen, which pre- 
vents the reactor from seeing the hammer fall, and consequently 
moving his finger too soon (reacting to sight, instead of to 
sound). 

Hammer and key are connected with an electric clock, or 
chronoscope, e. The clock has two dials. A complete revolu- 
tion of the hand of the lower dial occupies 10 sec, a complete re- 
volution of that of the upper dial, yL sec. The circumference of 
each dial is divided into 100 parts; so that the unit of measure- 
ment on the lower dial is ^^ sec, that on the upper, yo^o"o" ^^^• 
To read the time from the clock, therefore, we have only to add 
the figures of the upper to those of the lower dial; if the lower 
hand points to 76, and the upper to 25, the time is 7.625 sec. 
The chronoscope goes only when the electric current is passed 
through a magnet, which is attached to the clockwork. 

The wires which connect together hammer, key and chrono- 
scope run to the battery/, by way of a commutating key, d. The 
function of this key is to change the direction of the current sent 
through the chronoscope in successive experiments. In one ex- 
periment, the current takes the direction +~jn HT""; in the next, 
the direction ^TXT • This reversal is necessary, since a current 
which travelled always in the same direction would permanently 
magnetise the chronoscope magnet, and so alter the times recorded 
by the dials. 

Below the shaft of the hammer b is placed an electromagnet, g^ 
wires from which run to the battery/', by way of the commutator 
d\ Closure of the commutator sends a current through the mag- 
net, and the head of the hammer is thus pulled down upon the 
steel block. 

We will suppose now that an experiment is to be made. The 
experimenter, seated before the chronoscope in the registration 
room, closes the commutator d. Having done this, he signals to 
the reactor (by means of an ordinary electric bell, not represented 
in the Figure) to prepare for the reaction movement. The reactor 



322 Sy7ithesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

lays his right arm on the table which carries the reacting key, a, 
and rests the first or second finger of the right hand upon the but- 
ton, thus closing the key. We have {\) a closed, d closed, and 
b open. Two seconds after his signal (§ 41), the experimenter 
closes the commutator d^ ; the hammer falls. The sound stimulus 
is thus given, while we have {2) a closed, ^/closed, and b closed : 
the chronoscope hands begin to move. The reactor, hearing the 
hammer fall, raises his finger from the button of <^, — i.e., 'reacts.' 
We have (3) <^ open, b closed, and d closed : the chronoscope 
stops with the breaking of the circuit at a. If the hands pointed 
to 7.625 at (2), and the dials now read 7.819 at (3), we know that 
the whole time, from the dropping of the hammer to the moving 
of the finger, was .194 sec. This interval is called the 'reaction 
time ' ; and its unit, the thousandth of i sec, is called a 'sigma' 
(Greek o-). 

While the experimenter is reading the reaction time from the 
dials of the chronoscope, the reactor writes out an introspective 
account of his reaction-consciousness, beginning from the sound- 
ing of the signal bell, 2 sec. before the hammer fell, and ending 
with the snapping of the finger from the button of the reacting 
key. Presently the signal is again sounded by the experimenter, 
and a new experiment begins. It is customary to limit a series 
of experiments to 15 or 20, since the strain of attention necessary 
for reacting and for the subsequent introspection is very great, and 
the reactor soon becomes fatigued (§ 10). 

The psychological laboratories contain many forms of the re- 
acting key, many kinds of instruments whose function it is to give 
the stimulus which starts the reaction experiment, and many appa- 
ratus for time registration. The responsive movement need not be 
made with the finger ; it may be performed by lips, eyelid, vocal 
organs, tongue, foot, etc. And the stimulus need not be auditory ; 
it may be visual, tactual, etc. Moreover, the movement may be 
movement not of a single finger, but of different fingers in dif- 
ferent experiments : in such cases a five-finger key is employed. 
And the impression may not be known beforehand to the reactor ; 
it may be one of a number of colours, sounds, etc. : in such caser 
the apparatus which gives the stimulus becomes very complex. 



§ 93- ^^^^ Simple Reaction 323 

The reaction time in the instance given above is the time 
elapsing between the fall of the hammer and the movement of the 
finger from the key. Within this time, the external stimulation 
has made its way through the ear, and the excitation set up in 
the hair-cells of the basilar membrane has travelled to the brain. 
Moreover, the outgoing excitation has run down the right arm, to 
the finger-tip. No one of these physiological processes is accom- 
panied by a conscious process. Plainly, then, the reaction time 
is the duration of more than a simple action-consciousness : it is 
the duration of this, plus the duration of certain physiological pro- 
cesses. It is, unfortunately, impossible to measure the physiologi- 
cal processes by themselves, and subtract the time which they 
require from the total reaction time ; so that every recorded re- 
action time is somewhat too long. This fact, while it does away 
with the absolute value of the figures read from the chronoscope, 
does not lessen their relative value. If a reaction time which in- 
cludes, say, the formation of an association of ideas is longer than 
a reaction time which does not, the difference may be referred, 
other conditions being equal, to the association. 

§ 93. The Simple Reaction. — In the simple reaction 
experiment, the movement follows at once upon the sens- 
ing of the stimulus. In other words, the simple reaction 
is an artificial impulsive action. But the impulsive action 
of real life passes over into reflex action ; and in like 
manner the simple reaction, by a fitting preadjustment of 
its conditions, may be brought very near to the reflex 
type. We thus have two forms of simple reaction : the 
true or impulsive form, or, as it is usually termed, the 
* sensorial ' reaction ; and the curtailed or reflex-like form, 
usually termed the ' muscular ' reaction. 

(i) The Sensorial Reaction. — In the sensorial reaction 
experiment, the reactor is directed to hold his attention 
from the outset upon the sensory stimulus, and to withhold 
the reaction movement until he has sensed that stimulus. 



324 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

At the beginning of the experiment, therefore, conscious- 
ness is dominated by an idea of end, and by a centrally 
aroused sensation (or verbal idea) which corresponds to 
the expected stimulus. When the stimulus is given, this 
centrally aroused object-idea is replaced by the periphe- 
rally aroused sensation, which brings with it the recogni- 
tive or cognitive mood. We now have two of the three 
factors in the impulse : the ideas of object and of end. 
These are immediately supplemented by the idea of move- 
ment, and the motor response to the stimulus is made. 

The stages in the formation of the reaction-consciousness (sen- 
sorial reaction) may, therefore, be tabulated as follows : 

( i) idea of end plus anticipation of object ; 

(2) idea of ^xvA plus idea of object, with mood of * at home ' or 

' of course ' ; 

(3) idea of end plus idea of object ///^j- idea of movement ; 

(4) sensations set up by movement. 

The idea of end soon ceases to play any considerable part in 
the reaction-consciousness. At first it may be vividly present, as 
the idea of gaining control over the attention, getting practice in 
introspection, adding to the sum of psychological facts, doing a 
piece of prescribed work well, etc. But with frequent repeti- 
tion of the experiments, it loses its original definiteness, until, in 
course of time, all that is left of it is the cognitive mood set up by 
the sight of the reaction table, screen, etc. 

The duration of the simple sensorial reaction differs 
according to the sense department from which the object- 
idea is taken, i.e., to which the stimulus appeals. This 
time difference is, in all probability, due to the physiologi- 
cal conditions of stimulation of the different sense-organs, 
and accordingly has no psychological significance. 

The sensorial reaction time has been determined in the spheres 
of sight, sound, pressure, taste, smell and temperature. But the 



§ 93- ^-^^ Simple Reaction 325 

conditions of stimulation in the three last cases are so variable 
and so little understood that the time measurements are of small 
psychological value. For purposes of introspective analysis and 
comparison, therefore, we must confine ourselves to reactions in 
the domain of sight, sound and pressure. 
The average durations are as follows : 

(i) Sensorial reaction to light : 2700-; 

(2) Sensorial reaction to sound : 2250-; 

(3) Sensorial reaction to pressure : 2100-. 

(2) Tke Musaclar Reaction. —In the muscular reaction 
experiment, the reactor is directed to hold his attention 
from the outset upon the movement which is to be made 
in response to the stimulus. At the beginning of the 
experiment, therefore, consciousness is dominated by the 
ideas of end and of movement. When the stimulus is 
given, and the object-idea added to these two ideas, the 
impulse is complete : motor response to the stimulus is 
immediately made. 

The sensorial reaction can never pass over into a reflex 
action, since, by the conditions of the experiment, move- 
ment cannot take place until the ideas of end and of 
object have been supplemented by the idea of move- 
ment. The muscular reaction, on the other hand, may, 
in course of practice, come very near to the reflex type. 
In the first place, the idea of end tends to disappear, 
as the reactor grows accustomed to the experiment. In 
the second place, the concentration of attention upon the 
movement to be made paves the way for the actual move- 
ment ; the attention does for this movement what biologi- 
cal conditions have done for other movements which are 
of the true reflex order ; there exists, for the time being, a 
sort of 'reflex arc' (§ 66) between the sense-organ to 



326 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

which the stimulus appeals and the muscles concerned in 
the reaction movement, — just as there exists a permanent 
reflex arc between, e.g., the pressure organs in the cornea 
of the eye and the muscles concerned in winking. Hence 
it is intelligible that the muscular reaction should be quick 
and spasmodic, and that it should oftentimes seem, when 
introspectively examined, to have taken place automati- 
cally, reflexly, without the intervention of any object-idea 
at all. 

When the reactor is new to the reaction experiment, the stages 
in the formation of the reaction-consciousness (muscular reaction) 
may be tabulated as follows : 

(i) idea of end plus idea of movement ; 

(2) idea of tndplus idea of movement plus idea of object ; 

(3) sensations set up by movement. 

But in its most reflex-like form, as performed by a highly 
practised subject, the reaction is accompanied only by the follow- 
ing processes : 

(i) idea of movement ; 

(2) sensations set up by movement. 

The idea of end lapses altogether, and the object-idea comes 
to consciousness later, after the movement has been made. 
The average durations of the muscular reaction are as follows : 

(i) Muscular reaction to light : 1800-; 

(2) Muscular reaction to sound : 1200-; 

(3) Muscular reaction to pressure : iioo*. 

These times are too long to be pure reflex times : the winking 
reflex occupies only about 500-. But they are reflex-like. This 
is borne out not only by the verdict of introspection, but also by 
the fact that the muscular reaction is not infrequently made too 
soon, or made in response to the wrong stimulus. If the attention 
has done its work thoroughly, and the ' reflex arc ' is well con- 
nected in all its parts, there is a constant tendency for the move- 



§ 93- '^^^^ Simple Reaction 327 

ment to ' go off ' ; any slight provocation, such as the creaking of 
a chair in the reacting room, is enough to bring about the jerk 
of the finger from the key. 

The difference between the average sensorial and the average 
muscular reaction time amounts, as the tables show, to about 
looo- or yL sec. The difference is so constant that the experi- 
menter, as he reads the figures from the chronoscope, can tell 
whether the subject is reacting in the one way or the other. 
This objective control is most valuable, since it enables us to 
educate the reactor in introspection, to aid him in gaining sub- 
jective control of his action by acquiring a mastery over the 
attention (§ 97). 

The Mean Variation. — If we are to estimate the introspective 
power of the reactor, we must know not only the average duration 
of his sensorial and muscular reactions, but the regularity or irreg- 
ularity with which he reacts. Thus suppose that in three succes- 
sive sensorial reactions to sound the chronoscope read iiocr, 
3200- and 2450-. The average of these three times is a good 
average : 225 o-. But the irregularity is so great that the reactor 
could not be credited with any considerable degree of control 
over his attention. 

Hence it is usual to record not only the average reaction time 
of each reactor, but the mean variation of that time. By the 
* mean variation ' we mean the average difference between the 
average reaction time and the single reaction times gained in 
the course of an experimental series. Thus iioo- differs from the 
average time (225 o-) by 1150-; 3200- differs from it by 95 o- ; and 
245 o- differs from it by 200-. The mean variation in this case is 
(115 -I-95 H- 20) -r- 3 (the number of experiments in the series) ; 
i.e., 770-. 

The mean variation of a practised reactor is lOo- for muscular 
reactions, and about 250- for sensorial. 

The simple reaction experiment can be varied in many ways. 
Thus we can investigate the influence of the intensity of stimulus, 
of variation of the time allowed for preparation of the attention. 



328 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experi^jtent 

of the omission of the signal, of the occurrence of distracting 
stimuli, etc. The results of such experiments are all valuable as 
throwing light upon the working of the attention. 

§ 94. The Discrimination Reaction and the Cognition Re- 
action. — In its sensorial form, the simple reaction is an 
artificial impulsive action. In the experience of everyday 
life, we have conflicts of impulses with one another, the 
result of which may be inaction or selective action, and 
conflicts of impulses with other groups of associated ideas, 
the result of which may be inaction or volitional action. 
Now if we can introduce these conflicts into the course of 
the reaction experiment, we shall be able objectively to 
measure and subjectively to examine the two most compli- 
cated forms of the action-consciousness. 

It is possible, by the help of the reaction method, to 
put together an artificial selective or volitional action. 
But the end cannot be reached by a single step. We 
must advance to * choice reactions,' as they are termed, 
by way of the * discrimination reaction' and the 'cognition 
reaction.' 

( 1 ) The Discrimination Reaction. — The discrimination 
reaction differs only in one respect from the simple senso- 
rial reaction. In the latter, the subject reacts to a single 
known stimulus ; in the former, to one of two or more 
known stimuli. The reactor is told, e.g.^ that he will be 
shown either black or white, and that he is to react when 
he has cognised the black as black or the white as 
white ; but he does not know which of the two brightness 
qualities to expect in each particular experiment. He has 
to ' discriminate ' the stimulus which is actually employed. 

(2) TJie Cognition Reaction. — The cognition reaction 
differs in two respects from the simple sensorial reaction. 



§ 94- Discrimination Reaction^ Cognition Reaction 329 

In the first place, the subject is required to react only 
when he has cognised some one of two or more possible 
stimuli; the cognition reaction is a discrimination reaction. 
In the second place, the reactor does not know, except in 
a quite general way, what stimulus he is to expect. Thus 
he may be told that he will be shown a light stimulus, 
and that he is to react when he has cognised this stimulus 
as a particular brightness or a particular colour ; but nothing 
more explicit is said. 

If we wish briefly to characterise these three forms of reaction, 
we may say that (i) the simple sensorial reaction involves cogni- 
tion of one known stimulus, (2) the discrimination reaction in- 
volves cognition of some one of a number of known stimuli, and 
(3) the cognition reaction involves cognition of some one of a 
number of unknown stimuli, — 'unknown,' that is, so far as igno- 
rance is permitted by the conditions of the method at large. 

For an analysis of the ' cognition ' which is involved in each 
case, cf.% 72. The reader must remember that the titles ' discrim- 
ination reaction ' and ' cognition reaction ' are employed in narrow 
and special senses. The * discrimination reaction ' implies a cog- 
nition ; and the * cognition reaction ' implies a more elaborate dis- 
crimination than does the ' discrimination reaction ' technically 
so called. 

Both the discrimination reaction and the cognition reaction are 
longer than the simple sensorial reaction. The time differences 
between the latter and certain forms of the cognition reaction are 
given in the following table : 

The ' cognition ' of a colour requires 300- ; 

The 'cognition' of a printed letter requires 500-; 
The 'cognition' of a short word requires 50 o-. 

With simple stimuli, of this kind, there is hardly any diflerence 
between the durations of the discrimination and cognition reaction. 
The rule seems to be, however, that discrimination requires a 
sHghtly shorter time than cognition. 



330 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

§ 95. The Choice Reaction. — The choice reaction is an 
artificial selective or volitional action. 

(i) The Choice Reaction as Selective Action. — This re- 
action, in its simplest form, is a direct development from 
the discrimination reaction. The reactor is told, e.o^., that 
he will be shown either black or white, and that he is to 
react only when he has cognised the black as black or the 
white as white. So far, the directions are the same as 
those for the discrimination reaction. But further, he is 
to react to black by a movement of the right hand, and 
to white by a movement of the left hand. This additional 
direction introduces a conflict of impulses into the course 
of the experiment. 

(2) TJie Choice Reaction as Volitional Action. — This 
reaction also is built up, in the first place, from the dis- 
crimination reaction. The reactor is instructed as before, 
except that he is told to react to black by a movement of 
the right hand, and not to react to white at all. There is 
thus introduced into the experiment a conflict between an 
impulse and another group of ideas. 

Both forms of the choice reaction, however, may be based 
upon the cognition reaction, instead of the simpler discrim- 
ination reaction. Thus the reactor may be told that he will 
be shown a colour or a letter, and that he is to react by 
naming the impression, i.e., by a movement of the vocal 
organs. He is here left in entire ignorance as to what 
colours or what letters will be exposed. The reaction will, 
in this case, be an artificial selective action. Or he may be 
told that he will be shown either a colour or a letter, and 
that he is to react to the former by naming the given 
impression, but not to react to letters at all. In this case, 
the reaction would be an artificial volitional action. 



§ 95- 'T^^^ Choice Reaction 331 

(i) It is plain that the time occupied by the conflict of im- 
pulses in the first form of the choice reaction will depend very 
largely upon the reactor's practice, and upon the number of 
impressions used. If no more than two stimuli are employed, — 
say, black and white, — the connection of black with right-hand 
movement and of white with left-hand movement may become so 
stable, in course of practice, that there is really no conflict of 
impulses in the case. The reaction may come to be as much a 
matter of course as the taking of a knife in one's right hand 
and a fork in one's left (§ 96). On the other hand, if ten col- 
ours are used, and the reactor instructed to reply to each colour 
by the movement of a particular finger, there will nearly always 
be some conflict of impulses, hovever great the amount of 
practice. 

The following may be taken as instances of the duration of the 
choice reaction^ (selective action), {a) Nine persons were re- 
quired to react to two intensities of sound by movements of the 
two hands. The average time of the choice reaction was 3160-. 
When we remember that the simple sensorial reaction to sound 
occupies 2250-, and that the remaining 910- represents not only 
the ' choice,' i.e., the conflict of impulses, but also the ' discrimina- 
tion,' i.e., the cognition of the loud as ' the loud ' and the weak as 
* the weak ' sound, we see that the conflict of impulses in the 
experiments was not very serious. 'Choice' could not have 
occupied more than 60 cr. 

{b) In another investigation, ten persons reacted to ten impres- 
sions (the figures i, 2, 3, 4, 5, I, II, III, IV and V) by movements 
of the fingers of the two hands. The average time of reaction 
was 6iocr. If we subtract from this total 2700- for the simple 
sensorial reaction time, we have a remainder of 340 cr. Allowing 



^ The figures given here and later in the chapter must be regarded as quite 
rough averages. The duration of a compound reaction varies so greatly with 
variation of the experimental conditions, and conditions have varied so greatly 
in the investigations as yet carried out, tliat it is very difficult to make any 
general statement as to the time occupied by the processes of ' choice ' and 
association. 



332 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

30-500- for Miscrimination,' we have 290-3100- as the time 
occupied by the conflict of impulses. 

(^r) We now come to the consideration of choice reactions 
which presuppose not the ^ discrimination ' reaction but the ' cog- 
nition ' reaction. Two persons reacted to colours, letters and 
short words : the reaction movement consisted in the articulation 
of the name of the given impression. The average times were : 
for colours, 550 o-; for letters, 4100-; for short words, 3900. 
From the first we must subtract 270 + 300- : the time occupied by 
the conflict of impulses was, therefore, 2500-. From the second 
and third we must take 2704-500^: the times occupied by the 
conflict of impulses were 90 and 700-. 

(2) It seems that volitional action is, on the whole, somewhat 
shorter than selective. The nine persons who gave an average 
selective reaction of 3 1 6 o- in the experiments with two intensities 
of sound, described above, gave an average reaction of 310.50- 
when required to react with the right hand to the weaker sound, 
and not to react to the stronger at all. This time difference is 
so small as to be for all practical purposes no difl'erence. Other 
experiments, however, seem to show that the rule is as stated. 

§ 96. The Automatic Reaction. — Impulsive action be- 
comes reflex : we have not only the sensorial but also 
the muscular form of the simple reaction. In the same 
way, selective and voluntary action, if constantly repeated, 
become automatic : we have automatic reactions in addi- 
tion to choice reactions. 

The automatic reaction is psychologically valuable as a 
supplement to the muscular simple reaction. This latter, 
it will be remembered, is from the outset an artificial 
reflex ; we prearrange the conditions of the experiment 
with the intention of getting a reaction which shall be 
as near a reflex action as possible. The muscular reac- 
tion is not a degenerated sensorial reaction. On the other 
hand, the automatic reaction is a degenerated choice reac- 



§ 97- Function of the Reaction Experiment 333 

tion; it is a secondary reflex, derived directly from an 
artificial selective or volitional action. 

If, then, we continue a choice reaction until it becomes 
automatic, we gain opportunity to observe introspectively 
the emergence of a secondary reflex. The experimenta- 
tion is further valuable as illustrating the course of prac- 
tice. 

In cases of extreme automatism, the discrimination of two 
known colours has been found to require only 1 1 o- ; that of the 
locality of a sound, only 150-. 

The tendency of the reactor towards automatism is one of the 
greatest difficulties which the investigator of compound reactions 
has to encounter. He must secure thoroughly practised subjects, 
and yet take care that their practice does not go too far. 

§ 97. The Function of the Reaction Experiment. — The 
reaction, as we have described it in preceding Sections, 
is an artificial, schematic, simplified action, — an action 
which may be impulsive, selective, volitional or approxi- 
mately reflex, as the experimenter desires. 

For psychological purposes, this artificial action pre- 
sents many advantages over the action of real life. In 
the first place, it is action reduced to its lowest terms. 
The stimulus which starts it, and the movement with 
which it ends, are both exceedingly simple. In the second 
place, it is pure action, action unmixed with any other 
complex conscious experience. It follows from these two 
facts that, under the conditions of the reaction experi- 
ment, the subject can introspect the action-consciousness 
in a way which is altogether impossible under ordinary 
circumstances. Thirdly, the reaction is action, the precise 
duration of which is recorded. This fact also is an aid 
to introspection. Not only, that is, has the reactor the 



334 Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

means of complete introspective control of his action : 
the experimenter, who notes the time which the reaction 
takes, can assist him by the information that the times 
are different in this and the other case, and that there- 
fore the processes constituting the action-consciousness 
in those cases must have been different. 

This, then, is what we may call the intrinsic function 
of the reaction experiment, — to bring together the pro- 
cesses which make up the action-consciousness, under 
conditions which are as favourable as possible to their 
introspection. Incidentally, however, the reaction method 
has been turned to account in various ways for the illus- 
tration of other psychological facts or laws. Thus it has 
been found that the * cognition ' of intensities requires a 
longer time than the ^ cognition ' of qualities of sensation. 
This is in entire agreement with a conclusion at which 
we arrived on other grounds, — the conclusion that the 
quality of a sensation is its ' absolute ' attribute, while the 
other attributes are only relative or comparative (§ 26). 
The reaction method has also been employed to compare 
different clangs with respect to their unitariness or single- 
ness of effect. It is found that we cognise a minor third 
{c-\l.e^ more quickly than we cognise the corresponding 
major third {c-e\ The minor third, that is, is less single, 
less unitary, a less complete 'fusion' than the major (§ 49). 
Again, the reaction method allows us to follow with great 
accuracy the course of expectation, practice and fatigue, 
— processes which, as we have seen (§§ 10, etc.), are of ex- 
treme importance, owing to their marked influence upon 
introspection in general. 

We have a good illustration of this ' incidental ' value of the 
reaction experiment in the figures quoted above, § 95 (i) (c^. 



§ 9^. The Association Reaction 335 

The naming of an unknown colour required 2500-; the naming 
of an unknown letter or short word, no more than 90 and 70 cr 
respectively. The reactors in these experiments stated that it 
was easier to name letters and words than colours, and especially 
such equivocal colours as rose, brown and violet. A statement of 
this kind, borne out as it is by the chronoscope figures, throws 
light upon what we may call the mechanism of mind. 

This fact, that it is easier to name a word than a colour, may 
seem to conflict with the fact, previously noticed (§ 94), that it is 
easier to cognise a colour than a word. There is no contradic- 
tion, however. It is easy to cognise a colour because the colour 
stimulus presents a uniform surface, and asks but little of the 
active attention. The word-stimulus, on the other hand, is com- 
posed of letters, which may be very much alike, and which are 
both small and discontinuous. It therefore puts a greater strain 
upon the visual attention of the reactor. 

There is, finally, one complex mental process for the 
investigation of which the reaction experiment is espe- 
cially valuable. This is the successive association of 
ideas. The method of reaction has proved so useful in 
the study of the successive association, that psychologists 
have distinguished a special type of compound reaction, 
the 'association reaction.' We will devote a Section to 
its consideration. 

§ 98. The Association Reaction. -^ In this experiment, the 
reactor is told that he will be shown a letter, colour, etc., 
and that he is to withhold the reaction movement until 
some one, two, etc., ideas have arisen in his mind at the 
suggestion of the stimulus. The association reaction, that 
is, is an extension of the cognition reaction : the stimulus, 
which is unknown to the reactor at the beginning of the 
experiment, must be cognised, and then succeeded in con- 
sciousness by another, centrally aroused idea. 



33^ Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

The successive association introduced into the course 
of the reaction experiment may be (i) an association of 
the kind occurring in the train of ideas, or (2) an associa- 
tion after disjunction. 

(i) The first type of association presents three typical forms. 
We may leave the reactor entirely free, directing him to wait until 
the stimulus has suggested some idea, but not limiting the asso- 
ciation in any way. He has to ' think of something ' before he 
reacts ; but nothing is said as to what the thought must be. An 
association of this sort is termed a * free ' association. Secondly, 
we may restrict the range of association somewhat, telling the 
reactor that he is to think of something which stands to the stimu- 
lus as part to whole, as attribute, as instance, etc. Thus if the 
stimulus were the word * chair,* the idea suggested might be chair- 
seat or chair-leg (part to whole), comfortable (attribute), the reac- 
tion chair (instance), etc. An association of this sort is termed a 
^ partially constrained ' association. Thirdly, the association may 
be altogether ' constrained.' We may tell the reactor that he is to 
name the given stimulus, if it be a colour; to translate it into 
another language, if it be a word^ etc. In such cases there is no 
choice ; the association is constrained to follow one special line. 

When we put a question to which there is an unlimited num- 
ber of answers, the answer actually given is a ' free ' association. 
When we put a question which admits of several answers, but not 
of an unlimited number, the answer given is a partially constrained 
association. When we ask a question to which only a single 
answer can be returned, we get a constrained association. Ques- 
tions of these three kinds are asked, as it were, by the stimuli in 
the association experiment. 

{a) Free Associations. — The average time of reaction which 
includes these associations, in cases where the stimulus used is 
a short word, is i sec. We must subtract from this total time 
2700- for the simple sensorial reaction, and 500- for the 'cogni- 
tion ' of the stimulus. This leaves us with 6800- as the time taken 
by the association alone. 



§ gS. The Association Reaction 337 

{b) Partially constrained Associations. — The duration of this 
type of association varies very greatly, according to the nature 
of the stimulus and the character of the directions given to the 
reactor. Thus if the word ' chair ' is shown, and the reactor 
required to think of some part of it, the range of possible asso- 
ciations is very hmited : a chair has at most only back, legs, arms 
and seat. In such experiments the whole association reaction 
does not require more than from 650 to 8500-, i.e., the association 
itself takes place in 330-5300-. If the stimulus word had been 
less familiar, and the range of possible association similarly limited, 
the time would have been much greater. Suppose, e.g., that the 
word ' pen ' is shown, and the reactor required to think of a par- 
ticular kind of pen. He is probably familiar with half-a-dozen 
different varieties ; but if he has not given much attention to 
them, it may take him a relatively long time to call any special 
sort to mind. 

If, on the other hand, the word ' white ' is shown, and the re- 
actor required to think of some substantive to which the adjective 
is applicable, the range of possible associations is very large. In 
such cases, there is very little difference between the duration of 
the partially constrained and of the free association. 

{c) Cotistrained Associations. — A constrained association, 
like the more restricted type of partially constrained associations, 
may require a very short or a very long time, according to the 
nature of the stimulus. Suppose, e.g., that names of countries are 
being shown, and the reactor is associating their capital towns to 
them. The capital of France would come to consciousness almost 
automatically (§ 96), in perhaps 3000-; the word 'Paris' is one 
of the supplementary ideas which we ordinarily associate simul- 
taneously to the word ' France.' But it might take us a full 7000- 
to think of the capital of Siam or of Corea. 

(2) The second type of association, association after dis- 
junction, can be introduced into the course of the reaction ex- 
periment only in its most familiar form, as a simple judgment. 
Thus the reactor may be told : ' You will be shown words, names 
of objects, and you are not to react till you have thought of the 
most important part of each object.' Then, if the word 'chair' 



33^ Synthesis of Action. Reaction Experiment 

is shown, he cannot associate to it the first part of a chair which 
comes to his mind, but must let his attention play upon the whole 
idea of chair, and select the most important part. He must pass 
a simple judgment. It is found that a reaction of this kind lasts 
about 1500- longer than a 'free association' reaction. 

The value of the association reaction, like that of the reaction 
experiment in general, is twofold. In the first place, it gives 
opportunity for the introspection of the associative consciousness. 
In the second place, it confirms, in an objective way, many of the 
facts with regard to association which introspection had revealed. 
Thus we learn that it takes longer to argue deductively than to 
argue inductively ; it is less easy to illustrate a principle than to 
build up a theory from individual facts. Again, the time required 
for various free associations are indications of the reactor's in- 
tellectual temperament or constitution (§ 54) ; and so on. 



CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER XV 

The Ultimate Nature of Mind. Mind and Body 

§ 99. The Mind of Psychology. — We defined psychology, 
at the outset of our enquiry, as the science of mental pro- 
cesses. Mind, we said, is the sum total of mental pro- 
cesses experienced during a lifetime ; or, if looked at from 
our own special point of view, the sum total of mental 
processes experienced between the limits of childhood 
and senility. 

We have, however, more than once had occasion to 
notice the fact that in popular thought and language mind 
is something more than a sum of mental processes : that 
it is regarded as a permanent background, against which 
the processes stand out, or an active and directive prin- 
ciple, by which the processes are originated or regulated. 
We have ourselves refused as psychologists to accept the 
popular view, and have kept within the limits laid down 
by our definition. But now that our survey of mental 
processes is concluded, we may pause for a moment to ask 
whether our rejection is warranted, or whether there is 
not this one question that still remains to be examined, 
this one important psychological problem which we have 
ignored, and which nevertheless calls for explanation. 

It is to be noted in the first place that, whether we have 
or have not faced all the questions that a psychologist is in 
duty bound to face, we have, so far as we have gone, justi- 

339 



340 Ultimate Nature of Miitd. Mind and Body 

fied 1?he claim of psychology to be called a science. We 
have ascertained the nature and attributes of the simplest 
mental functions and processes, and of the bodily func- 
tions and processes to which they correspond ; we have 
seen how the developed mind is built up from its elements ; 
we have found that there are psychological laws, uniform- 
ities of mental occurrence, which have as their condi- 
tion certain physiological laws, uniformities of occurrence 
within the living body, etc. In short, we have proved 
that mental phenomena can be arranged in as orderly and 
systematic fashion as the phenomena dealt with by phy- 
sics or physiology. There is no fact of mind, as we have 
defined mind, which has resisted our methods of investi- 
gation ; no process of which we have been compelled to 
say * We cannot see any hope of accounting for this ; it 
contradicts what we have previously said.' — It may per- 
haps be, then, that we have neglected a question w^hich 
we should have raised. But, so far as we have asked 
questions, we have been able to offer consistent answers. 

In the second place, however, there does remain the 
doubt whether our definition of mind is warranted ; whether 
we should not take up the popular view of mind, and try 
to give reasons for it, — to reconcile it with our psychology, 
if reconciliation is possible ; to show cause for persisting 
in our opinions, if reconciliation is impossible. Is there 
not a mind, behind mental processes } Is not mind active "^ 
Is not mind single, unitary, — continuous and not disjointed, 
coherent existence and not a mere aggregate of discon- 
nected consciousnesses .'* 

These are all important questions. If psychology can 
reply to them, and if our psychology has not replied to 
them, then most certainly our procedure has been un- 



§ 99- '^^^^ Mind of Psychology 341 

warranted, and our description of mind is one-sided and 
incomplete. But can psychology reply to them ? Let us 
consider them in order. — In doing this we must remember 
always that, within the sphere of psychology, introspec- 
tion is the final and only court of appeal, that psychologi- 
cal evidence cannot be other than introspective evidence. 
On this point all psychologists would be agreed. 

(i) There is no psychological evidence of a mind which 
lies behind mental processes. Introspection reveals no 
trace of it : whenever we look inward, we find nothing but 
processes, of varying degrees of complexity. Yet many 
psychologists believe in the existence of a mind, distinct 
from mental processes. Here is a riddle, then, which 
psychology is plainly unable to read. 

(2) There is no psychological evidence of a mental 
* activity,' above or behind the stream of conscious pro- 
cesses (Ch. VI). Yet many psychologists believe in its 
existence. Here, again, is a fact which cannot be ex- 
plained by psychology. 

(3) There is no psychological evidence of mental con- 
tinuity and coherence which cannot be met by evidence of 
a contrary tenor. It is true that memory-ideas connect the 
present with the past ; but it is equally true that one con- 
sciousness may be succeeded by another which is totally 
different from it. It is true that organic sensations, often 
pleasant or unpleasant, are constituents of all my conscious- 
nesses ; and that I am always called by the same name, 
always treated as the same self. Yet I know from those- 
very persons who call me by one and the same name that 
I have * forgotten ' many incidents of my life ; and I know 
that my selfhood lapses every night in sleep ; — I know, 
that is, that there are great gaps in my mental experi- 



342 Ultimate Nature of Mind. Mind and Body 

ence. Psychology cannot reconcile the conflicting testi- 
mony. 

The three questions, then, are not to be answered by an 
appeal to introspection. Nor are they answered by any 
other special science, — e.g., by biology. They cannot be 
answered till we have brought together the facts of psy- 
chology a7td the facts of otJier sciences : the facts of the 
natural sciences, physics and chemistry and physiology 
and the rest, on the one hand ; and the facts of the 
remaining philosophical sciences, ethics and logic and 
aesthetics and the rest, on the other. N.ow this co-ordina- 
tion of all kinds of scientific facts belongs to metaphysics. 
Our three questions, therefore, must be handed over to 
the metaphysician. 

§ 100. Mind and Body. — We have laid it down as a rule 
without exception that every mental process has as its 
condition a bodily process, some change in the centra] 
nervous system and, more particularly, in the cerebral 
cortex. ** No psychosis without neurosis : " there is no 
mental state which has not a peculiar nervous state cor- 
responding to it. 

This rule — the principle of 'psychophysical parallel- 
ism,' as it is termed — is simply a statement of fact, not 
an explanation of the relation of mind and body. The 
bodily process explains the corresponding mental process, 
because it is the condition under which the mental process 
appears (§ 4). But the principle of parallelism does not 
explain itself : it takes mind for granted, in the psycho- 
logical sense ; and it takes body for granted, in the physio- 
logical definition of 'body.' It merely says: Where there 
is a mental process, there is also a process in a living 
body. 



§ 100. Mind and Body 343 

It is clear, however, that we have a right to ask for 
something more than this bare statement of fact ; we have 
a right to ask how mind and body are related in the world 
at large, how they stand to each other in the general 
order of events in the universe. This enquiry, like the 
questions concerning the ultimate nature of mind, belongs 
to metaphysics. We shall do no good, but rather confuse 
ourselves, if we attempt to introduce it into psychology. 
Especially must we be careful to avoid, as psychologists, 
the popular view that bodily states are the causes of 
mental, and mental states the causes of bodily : that a 
ray of light is the cause of a sensation of sight, or an im- 
pulse the cause of a physical movement. The word 
* cause' has a very definite meaning, — a meaning which we 
have no right to read into the phenomena of parallelism, 
— and a definitely restricted sphere of application. 

(i) 'Cause ' is defined by the three concepts of time-sequence, 
invariability and equivalence. The effect follows the cause ; the 
effect always follows the cause ; the effect is equal to the cause. 
Now although a mental process is always given together with a 
bodily process, there is no jot of evidence to show that the two 
are equal, and there is much evidence to show that they are 
simultaneous and not successive. Hence it is plainly wrong to 
say that a bodily state is the cause of a mental state, — unless we 
arbitrarily alter the meaning of the term 'cause ' to fit our problem. 
(2) Logic does not allow us to reason from one kind of fact to 
another. It is fallacious to say that because a man is a good hus- 
band and father, therefore he will be a good monarch, — to argue, 
i.e., from domestic virtue (one kind of fact) to political ability 
(another kind). Mental processes are facts of one kind ; bodily 
processes facts of quite another kind. It may be that metaphysics 
would bring the two orders of fact together ; but it is not allow- 
able to do so within the limits of a special science. 



344 Ultimate Nature of Mind. Mind and Body 

§ 10 1. The Mind of Metaphysics. — We might consider 
that our task is now completed. We have our science 
in outUne before us ; the problems that arise out of it 
we have passed on to another philosophical discipline, to 
metaphysics. Nevertheless, it is not satisfactory to ask 
questions and receive no sort of answer. 

We will conclude, then, with a glance at the opinion of 
a representative metaphysician. And we shall turn nat- 
urally to the works of Hermann Lotze, — a man who not 
only exercised a greater influence upon general philosophic 
thought than any other philosopher of the last generation, 
but who also did much to advance the special cause of 
modern psychology. On the question of the ultimate 
nature, and especially of the unity of mind, Lotze writes 
as follows : 

" It is impossible to speak of a bare movement without thinking 
of the mass whose movement it is ; and it is just as impossible to 
conceive a sensation existing without the accompanying idea of 
that which has it. . . . Any comparison of two ideas which ends 
by our finding their contents like or unlike, presupposes the abso- 
lute indivisibility of that which compares them. . . . And so our 
whole inner world of thoughts is built up ; not as a mere collection 
of manifold ideas existing with or after one another, but as a world 
in which these individual members are held together and arranged 
by the relating activity of this single pervading principle. This 
then is what we mean by the unity of consciousness : and it is this 
which we regard as the sufficient ground for assuming an indivisi- 
ble mind. ... It is only an indivisible unity which can produce 
or experience effects at all. . . . Every judgment, whatever it 
may assert, testifies by the mere fact that it is pronounced at all, 
to the indivisible unity of the subject which utters it." 

And in the course of a discussion of the relation of 
mind to body : 



§ lOi. The Mind of Metaphysics 345 

" We have given up that simple and thorough division of reaUty, 
which places matter on one side and mind on the other. . . . 
Everything we supposed ourselves to know of matter as an obvious 
and independent existence has . . . been dissolved in the convic- 
tion that matter itself, together with the space, by filling which it 
seemed most convincingly to prove its peculiar nature, is nothing 
but an appearance for our perception, and that this appearance 
arises from the reciprocal effects which existences, in themselves 
supersensuous, produce on one another, and consequently also 
upon the mind." ^ 

These are the words of a man who was both a psy- 
chologist and a metaphysician. It is evident, however, 
that Lotze is speaking here not from the point of view 
of introspection, but from that of metaphysics. And 
speaking from this standpoint he uses expressions, some, 
at least, of which indicate a belief which is not very far 
different from the view of mind taken by popular thought. 
The difference is that the philosopher can give reasons 
for his opinions, whereas in popular thinking a current 
or traditional belief is accepted unreasoningly ; and that 
the philosopher knows that he is attacking a metaphysical 
problem, whereas popular thinking draws no line of dis- 
tinction between metaphysics and psychology. 

1 H. Lotze: Metaphysic. 2d ed. Oxford, 1887. Vol. II., pp. 169 ff., 175 f., 
190. I have followed the English trans., with the single exception that 1 
have rendered Seele by mind. — Cf. the corresponding passages in the Micro- 
cosmus. 3d ed. Edinburgh, 1888. Vol. I. Bk. ii. chs. i. ii.; bk. iii. ch. i. 



INDEX 



Abstraction, process of, 303; see Idea, 
abstract. 

Action, instance of an, 8, 22 ; said to give 
evidence of mental activity, 121 ; defi- 
nition and analysis of, 237 ; upon pres- 
entation, 239, 243 ; condition of, 239 ; 
upon representation, 240, 243; stages 
in impulsive, 240; refiex, development 
of, 248, 250; instinctive, 253; instinc- 
tive vs. impulsive, 253 ; selective, 254 ; 
volitional, 255 ; automatic, 256 ; forms 
of, 257 ; synthesis of, 319 ; see Reaction. 

Activity, alleged fact of mental experi- 
ence, 119, 120, 341 ; inferred from men- 
tal experience, 117, 120, 292 ; supposed 
physiological condition of, as mental 
process, 120 ; said to be present in 
effort, 121; in active attention, 129; 
see Mind. 

Esthetic sentiments, of beauty, 207 ; of 
sublimity, 311 ; of the tragic and comic, 
311; classification of, 312; basis of, 
312 ; in literature, 316. 

Affection (conscious element), instance 
of its investigation, 25 ; contrast of 
qualities, 56, 219 ; definition of, 94, loi ; 
bodily correlates of, 93, 100, 103, 106 ; 
qualities of, 94, 105 ; relation of, to 
sensation, 96, 98, 99, 100; central and 
peripheral, 97, 99, 108; methods of 
investigating, 102, 103, 224, 318 ; de- 
scription of, loi ; attributes of, 105 ; 
and stimulus, 106 ; intensity of, 107 ; 
duration of, 107 ; Weber's law for, 107 ; 
in effort, 124; relation of, to attention, 
133, 146, 239, 260; cannot serve as 
associative link, 229 ; cannot be di- 
rectly revived, 281. 

Affection, as emotion, 232, impulse, 247. 

After-image, duration of, 73 ; function of, 
in the time sense, 85 ; in the idea of 
movement, 168. 



Analysis, the beginning of science, i ; is 
at first analysis of the outward, 2 ; in 
psychology, 9, 12, 14, 60 ; of idea, 68, 
150, 288 ; in association after disjunc- 
tion, 205, 303, 304; of conation, 122; 
of attention, 129; of emotion, 219, 229 ; 
of action, 237, 324, 326 ; of recognition, 
263 ; of memory, 271 ; of sentiment, 304. 

Aristotle, 163. 

Association, instance of a successive, 7 ; 
nature of, 188; forms of, 189, 190, 211 ; 
misleading character of the term, 190 ; 
simultaneous, 191, 284; associative sup- 
plementing, 194, 206, 208, 277 ; attri- 
butes of simultaneous, 196; verbal 
association, 198, 208; illusions, 200; 
successive, 202, 284; train of ideas, 
203, 209 ; after disjunction, 205, 209, 
296; hallucination, fallacy, delusion, 
207; law of, 208, 211; formula of, 210, 
230; conditions of, 210, 242; alleged 
law of, for feelings, 229 ; secondary, in 
abstract ideas, 298 ; free, duration of, 
336; partially constrained, duration of, 
337 ; constrained, duration of, 337 ; 
after disjunction, duration of, 338 ; re- 
action, value of, 338. 

Attention, variations of, 8; importance 
of, 33, 39, 125 ; to affection, impossible, 
99; forms of, 126; passive, 126, 130; 
active, 127, 130, 305; said to give evi- 
dence of activity as mental process, 
128; effort in, 129; development of 
active from passive, 131 ; of passive 
from active, 132, 256, 312, 317, 332; 
change of ideas in, 132 ; and affection, 
133, 146 ; final analysis of, 134 ; attri- 
butes of, 135 ; quality of, 135 ; intensity 
of, 136; duration of, 136, 140; extent 
of, 136 ; degree of, 137 ; fluctuations of, 
141, 142; range of, 144, 174; in selec- 
tive action, 255 ; see Reaction. 



347 



348 



Index 



Auditory sensations, quality of, 50; of 
tone, 50 ; of noise, 51 ; total number 
of, 51 ; explanation of, 52 ; relation of 
tone to noise, 53 ; contrast of, 56 ; 
Weber's law for, 81 ; ideas founded 
upon, 150, 152 ; and temporal ideas, 
172; and affection, 215,308; reaction 
to, 320, 325, 326. 

Averages, their value in psychology, 41 ; 
average and mean variation, in reac- 
tion experiments, 327. 

Biology, its importance for psychology, 

98, III, 116, 130, 183, 252. 
Blind spot, problem of, 165. 
Body, why psychology treats of it, 16 ; 

and the idea of self, 289; and mind, 

342,344- 
Buridan, 258. 

Cause, body and mind not causally re- 
lated, 343; definition of, 343; sphere 
of causation, 343, 

Clang, a qualitative idea, 176, 180; sim- 
ple and compound, 177 ; composition 
of, 177; clang-tint, 179; of human 
voice, 179 ; tonal fusion in, 177, 180, 
334 ; reaction to, 334. 

Cognition, development of, from recog- 
nition, 266 ; analysis of, 267 ; devel- 
opment of, from memory, 278 ; see 
Reaction. 

Colours, primary, 49; principal, 50; 
mixture of, 50; aesthetics of, 309, 313; 
cognition of, 329, 335. 

Common sensation, quality of pain, 65 ; 
always local, 96. 

Comparison, process of, 301 ; mood in, 
301, 302. 

Conation, definition of, 120; see Effort. 

Concept, definition of, 297 ; see Lan- 
guage. 

Conscious elements, definition of, 13 ; 
are never experienced singly, 13, 59, 
149, 213; are processes, 15; total 
number of sensations, 67 ; affection, 
94, loi ; is there a third ? 116, 119, 120. 

Consciousness, popular view of, 4 ; scien- 
tific view of, II ; artificial and natural, 
II ; always complex, 13, 59, 150 ; never 
wholly affective, 213. 

Curiosity, sentiment of, i, 315. 



Cutaneous sensations, quality of, 56 ; of 
pressure, 56, 66, 151 ; of temperature, 
58 ; Weber's law for, 81 ; their part in 
ideas, 152 ; and spatial ideas, 155, 157, 
159, 164, 169 ; and temporal ideas, 172, 
175 ; and affection, 217 ; reaction to, 
325, 326. 

Darwin, 21. 

Description, part of the problem of psy- 
chology, 17 ; of affection, difficult, loi. 

Discrimination, process of, 301 ; see 
Weber's law. Eye measurement. Time 
sense. Reaction. 

Disposition, importance of general, 40 ; 
functional, 277 ; see Mental constitution. 

Distance, idea of, 159, 194, 197. 

Duration, of sensation, 30, 68 ; minimal, 
of sensation, 73, 74 ; maximal, of sensa- 
tion, 76; as attribute of sensation, 76; 
of sensation, estimation of, see Time 
sense ; of affection, 107 ; of attention, 
136, 140 ; its part in ideas, 153 ; of re- 
action, 325, 326, 329, 331, 333 ; of suc- 
cessive association, 336. 

Effort, said to give evidence of mental 
activity, 121 ; found in different mental 
settings, 122; analysis of, 122; some- 
times termed sensation or feeling, 124 ; 
degrees of, 124; in active attention, 
129 ; in passive attention, 130 ; intensity 
of, and degree of attention, 137; in 
impulse, 245 ; in selective action, 255. 

Emotion, instance of, 13, 15 ; conditions 
of, 219 ; composition of, 220 ; feeling 
in, 221 ; organic sensations in, 221 ; 
forms of, 221, 232 ; gives place to indif- 
ference, 223 ; expression of, 224, 229 ; 
attributes of, 230 ; and impulse, 245 ; 
and sentiment, 304, 312, 317 ; quality 
of, 221, 230. 

Expectation, error of, 71, 72, 75, 81, 84, 
196, 200, 334. 

Experiment, definition of, 35; in psy- 
chology, 35 ; see Psychophysics, meth- 
ods of. 

Explanation, part of the problem of psy- 
chology, 17 ; meaning of, 17 ; Weber's 
law and, 91. 

Expressive movements, instance of, 22, 
224 ; transference of facial, 226 ; ot 



Index 



349 



laughter, 228 ; psychological value of, 
230 ; and impulse, 247 ; see Emotion, 
Feeling, Sentiment. 

Extent, of sensation, 30, 68; minimal, of 
sensation, 72, 74 ; maximal, of sensa- 
tion, 75; as attribute of sensation, 76; 
of sensation, estimation of, see Eye 
measurement; of affection, 105; of 
attention, 136, 144 ; of associative sup- 
plementing, 196. 

Eye measurement, law of, 82 ; judgment 
in, 83 ; see Weber's law. 

Eye movement, see Organic sensations 
and spatial ideas. 

Fatigue, danger of, in psychology, 39, 322, 

334. 

Feeling, mixed feelings, 96, 213 ; defini- 
tion of, 214 ; formula of, 214 ; kinds of, 
218, 229; illusory, 219; and emotion, 
220; expression of, 102, 103, 224, 260; 
and impulse, 245. 

Form, idea of, 163 ; superficial, 164 ; 
tridimensional, 164 ; visual and tactual, 
compared, 165 ; aesthetics of, 308, 313 ; 
of the idea, as basis of the aesthetic 
sentiment, 314, 

Gustatory sensations, quality of, 54 ; total 
number of, 54 ; contrast of, 55 ; rela- 
tion to olfactory, 54 ; relation to cuta- 
neous, 54 ; Weber's law for, 81 ; their 
part in ideas, 154, 180 ; and feeling, 216. 

Habit, effect of, upon affection, 97, 103, 
215 ; mood of, 267, 324 ; danger of au- 
tomatism, in compound reactions, 333. 

Hallucination, a train of illusory ideas, 
207. 

Idea, thing or process ? 6 ; always com- 
plex, 26, 150 ; problem of, 67, 148 ; 
classification of, 151 ; extensive, 150, 
154; temporal, 151, 172; qualitative, 
151, 176, 180; intensive, 153; second- 
ary, 162, 194; function of, 183,297; con- 
flict of, 138, 162, 173, 184 ; illusory, 184 ; 
and simultaneous association, 191 ; and 
perception, 148, 281; affectively toned, 
214; indifferent, 215; of pleasantness 
and unpleasantness, 230 ; of self, 288, 
290, 292 ; objectifies, 183, 291 ; abstract. 



295, 297, 303 ; percept, recept and con- 
cept, 297 ; aggregate, 290. 

Illusion, optical, 185 ; of simultaneous 
association, 200 ; factors in, 200 ; affec- 
tive, 219; of memory and recognition, 
285 ; see Idea, illusory. 

Imagination, instance of, 29 ; nature of, 
282, 284 ; reproductive, 282 ; construc- 
tive, 283 ; and memory, 283 ; and 
thought, 285. 

Impartiality, necessary in introspection, 
38 ; see Mental constitution, Expecta- 
tion, error of. 

Impulse, composition of, 244 ; and feel- 
ing, 245 ; and emotion, 245, 247 ; classi- 
fication of, 246 ; in selective action, 255 ; 
in the simple reaction, 323. 

Inaction, nature of, 92, 258 ; conditions 
of, 258. 

Inattention, danger of, in psychology, 39, 
104 ; as obverse of brown study, 138 ; 
constitutional, 138. 

Instinct, composition of, 253 ; develop- 
ment of, 253; instances of human, 254. 

Intellection, definition of, 293 ; forms of, 

293- 
Intellectual sentiments, classification of, 
315 ; objectify, 315 ; and literature, 

317. 

Intensity, of sensation, 30, 68 ; of com- 
plex processes, 32, 137 ; minimal, of 
sensation, 70, 74; maximal, of sensa- 
tion, 74 ; as attribute of sensation, 76 ; 
of sensation, estimation of, see Weber's 
law ; of affection, 107 ; of attention, 
136, 137 ; of stimulus, influence on re- 
action, 327 ; reaction to, 334. 

Introspection, must never be direct, 33 ; 
of sensation, rule for, 33, 36; defects 
of, and their remedies, 34; the only 
psychological method, 37, 341 ; its nec- 
essary conditions, 38, 104 ; of affection, 
rule for, 102 ; gives no evidence of 
mental activity, 119, 123, 129. 

Judgment, different modes of, 83, 87 ; an 
association after disjunction, 207; il- 
lusory, 207 ; as elementary intellection, 
293 ; and concept, 297 ; in constructive 
imagination, 284 ; in sentiment, 304, 
306; intrinsically pleasant, 305 ; danger 
of stereotyped, 306. 



350 



Index 



Language, psychological use of, 36, 306 ; 
and sensation, 45, 47, 50, 51, 54, 
loi ; and affection, 102 ; importance 
of verbal idea, 158, 199, 208, 230, 270, 
297, 298, 317; and emotion, 232. 

Laughter, explanation of, 228. 

Laura Bridgman, 23. 

Literature, instance of mixed feelings in, 
96 ; of blunting of emotion in, 223 ; of 
temperamentin,233; sentiments of, 316. 

Locality, idea of, superficial, 154, 157 ; 
physiological conditions of localisa- 
tion, 156 ; local sign, 157 ; idea of, 
tridimensional, 159 ; importance of 
vision for, 162; auditory localisation, 
197; localisation in time, see Recog- 
nition. 

Locke, 2, 3. 

Lotze, 344, 345. 

Magnitude, idea ot, 163 ; superficial, 164 ; 
tridimensional, 165 ; visual and tactual, 

165. 

Melody, a qualitative and temporal idea, 
i8o ; scale in, 181 ; tonic clang in, 182 ; 
rhythm in, 182; illusion of, 202. 

Memory, instances of, 8, 29 ; involved in 
introspection, 36; and recognition, 
270 ; analysis of, 271 ; the memory- 
idea, 271, 274; types of, 83, 274, 278, 
280 ; absolute and relative, 275 ; as 
retention, 275 ; and cognition, 278 ; 
investigation of, 278 ; range of, 280 ; of 
affection, impossible, 281 ; and imagi- 
nation, 283 ; illusions of, 285 ; and 
continuity of mental experience, 241. 

Mental constitution, determined by 
bodily tendencies, 112 ; methods of 
investigating, 113; indications of, 114; 
intellectual, 205, 338; affective, 233; 
and selfhood, 287; idea of, 114, 291; 
and abstract ideas, 296. 

Mental pathology, subject-matter of, 18 ; 
and psychology, 22; instances of, 16, 
23, 29, 60, 65, 67, 139, 207, 260, 275, 299. 

Mental process, definition of, 5 ; forms 
of, 7 ; see Sensation, Idea, etc. 

Mind, popular view of, 4, 118, 292, 339; 
psychological view of, 9, 113, 294, 339; 
metaphysical view of, 9, 118, 344; and 
self, 287 ; threefold division of, 294 ; 
and body, 12, 16, 24, 342, 344. 



Mood, definition of, 231 ; relation of, to 
emotion, 231 ; in recognition, 262 ; in 
cognition, 267 ; in paramnesia, 286 ; 
in comparison, 301 ; and sentiment, 
316. 

Movement, idea of, 168, 174, 259 ; extent 
of, 168 ; rate of, 174 ; of whole body, 
176 ; voluntary and involuntary, 234 ; 
and action, 238, 257 ; instinctive, 234, 
250; and alleged innervation sensa- 
tion, 235, 237; reflex, 249; not caused 
by mental states, 343 ; see Reaction, 

Music, chords and discords, 176; inter- 
vals, 178, 180 ; melody, 180 ; scale, 181 ; 
voice is primitive instrument, 179, 182; 
aesthetics of, 310. 

Olfactory sensations, quality of, 53 ; con- 
trast of, 56; and affection, 53, 216; 
their part in ideas, 180. 

Organic sensations, quality of, 59 ; mus- 
cular, 60; tendinous, 61; articular, 61 ; 
alimentary, 62 ; circulatory, respiratory, 
sexual, 63 ; static, 63, 176 ; Weber's 
law for, 81, 83, 182; in effort, 122; in 
attention, 129 ; their part in ideas, 152, 
184 ; and spatial ideas, 62, 156, 158, 
159, 160, 164, 170, 171 ; and temporal 
ideas, 172, 175; and affection, 216; in 
emotion, 221 ; in impulse, 245 ; and 
instinctive movement, 252; and idea 
of self, 289; tickling and sentiment of 
ludicrous, 311 ; and continuity of men- 
tal experience, 341. 

Pain, as common sensation, 65 ; not im- 
portant for formation of ideas, 151 ; 
popular and scientific use of word, 96. 

Parallelism, psychophysical, 342. 

Passion, definition of, 231 ; two uses of 
term, 231. 

Perception, instances of tactual, 56 ; does 
not differ from idea, 148, 281 ; see 
Idea. 

Physiology, and psychophysics, 20 ; and 
psychology, 24, 103 ; and Weber's law, 
88 ; explains the change of ideas in 
attention, 133, 134; explains intermit- 
tence of attention, 142; and locahsa- 
tion, 156; and association, 212; and 
emotion, 225 ; and laughter, 228 ; of 
voluntary movement, 236; of reflex 



Index 



351 



movement, 250 ; of retention, 277 ; vi- 
talistic, 294. 
Practice, value of, 8, 39, 334 ; danger of, 

333- 

Process, and thing, 5 ; j^<? Mental process. 

Psychogenesis, definition of, 18 ; and psy- 
chology, 21 ; see Psychology. 

Psychology, its beginnings, 3 ; arises 
later than the natural sciences, 3 ; its 
definition, 5, 9; is a science, 6, 340; 
problem of, 12, 17 ; animal, 17, 139, 
240, 244, 251, 253 ; comparative, 18 ; 
social, 18; anthropological, 18, 263, 
292, 300; child, 18, 243 ; abnormal, 18 ; 
experimental, 19; physiological, 19; 
and psychophysics, 20 ; its method, 32, 
102, 124; of faculties, 294; limits of, 

341- 
Psychophysics, definition of, 20 ; methods 

of, 37. 45, 47, 48, 51. 53. 55. 57. 58, 60. 
61, 62, 64, 66, 71, 72, 73, 75, 76, 81, 84, 
87, 102, 103, 141, 143, 145, 155, 157, 160, 
162, 169, 170, 171, 174, 175, 179, 196, 197, 
199, 203, 207, 211, 224, 236, 244, 268, 
279, 298, 308, 310, 316, 318, 320; see 
Parallelism. 

Quality, of sensation, 31, 44, 50, 53, 54, 56, 
59, 62, 63, 65 ; of complex processes, 
complex, 32, 176 ; total number of sen- 
sation qualities, 67 ; as attribute of sen- 
sation, 76; of affection, 94, 105; of 
attention, 135; ideas founded upon, 
153, 180; of emotion, 221, 230; of 
sentiment, 305 ; reaction to, 334. 

Reaction, method of, 319; simple and 
compound, 320 ; simple sensorial, 323 ; 
simple muscular, 325 ; duration of sim- 
ple, 325, 326; mean variation of simple, 
327 ; and attention, 323, 325, 327 ; sig- 
nal for, 321, 144; discrimination, 328; 
cognition, 328 ; duration of cognition, 
329, 334 ; choice, 330 ; duration of, 331 ; 
automatic, 332 ; duration of, 333 ; func- 
tion of the experiment, 333 ; associa- 
tion, 335. 

Reasoning, definition of, 229 ; idea of re- 
lation in, 299. 

Recognition, problem of, 261, 268 ; analy- 
sis of, 262 ; intrinsically pleasant, 263 ; 
forms of, 264 ; formula of indirect, 266 ; 



and cognition, 266 ; investigation of, 
268 ; and memory, 270 ; and simulta- 
neous association, 262, 283 ; illusion 
of, 285. 

Reflection, danger of, in psychology, 39, 
306, 314. 

Relation, idea of, 300; its formation, 300. 

Reproduction, as primitive memory, 271 ; 
untrustworthy, 273, 280, 302; usually 
visual, 274 ; its part in imagination, 
see Imagination. 

Retention, of ideas, in what sense to be 
understood, 193, 277. 

Rhythm, function of, in the time sense, 
86 ; influence of, upon range of atten- 
tion, 146; idea of, 172; measurement 
of, 173 ; in melody, 182 ; and aesthetic 
sentiment, 308, 313. 

Science, definition of, 6; psychology is 
a, 7. 

Self, definition of, 287 ; idea of, its con- 
stituents, 288; its formation, 291. 

Self-consciousness, definition of, 288; 
see Self, idea of. 

Sensation, instances of, 27 ; definition of, 
28 ; central and peripheral, 29, 99, 122 ; 
attributes of, 30, 68 ; facts of, 41 ; classi- 
fication of, 43 ; primitive, 66, 151 ; total 
number of qualities, 67 ; mutual rela- 
tions of attributes of, 76, 334 ; relation 
of, to affection, 96, 98, 99, 100 ; as con- 
stituent of an idea, 149. 

Sense-organs, help us to classify sensa- 
tions, 42. 

Sentiment, analysis of, 304 ; and emotion, 
304 ; quality of, 305 ; forms of, 306 ; 
aesthetic, 307 ; intellectual, 315 ; social 
or ethical, 317; religious, 318; pass 
into emotion, 312, 317, 318 ; expression 
of, 318. 

Shakespeare, 96, 233. 

Social life, importance of, for psy- 
chology, 114, 292, 300. 

Stimulus, definition of, 33 ; helps us to 
classify sensations, 42. 

Synthesis, part of the problem of psy- 
chology, 14 ; of an emotion, 15 ; of 
effort, 124, 130; of action, 319. 

Temperament, definition of, 233; forms 
of, 233 ; see Mental constitution. 



352 



Index 



Tendency, definition of, 109 ; natural and 
acquired, iii, 260; psychological im- 
portance of, 112, 115. 

Ten7tyso?i, 96, 223. 

Time sense, meaning of the phrase, 85 ; 
for least times, 85; for large times, 86; 
for moderate times, 86. 

Use of words, popular and scientific, 4, 
96, 238, 282, 306, 311 ; see Language. 

Vision, importance of, in mental life, 16, 
26, 57, 150, 152, 162, 187, 273; and spa- 
tial ideas, 156, 158, 159, 162, 164, 170; 
continuity of field of, 165 ; reinverted, 
167 ; optical illusions, 185 ; associative 
illusions of, 201 ; aesthetics of, 308. 



Visual sensations, quality of, 45 ; of 
brightness, 45; of colour, 46; total 
number of, 48; explanation of, 49; 
contrast of, 55, 186; intensity of, 71, 
77 ; Weber's law for, 81 ; and tem- 
poral ideas, 175 ; and affection, 215. 

Weber, 80. 

Weber's law, formulation of, 80 ; range 
of, 81 ; mathematical expression of, 81 ; 
and eye measurement, 83 ; and the 
time sense," 87 ; meaning of, 87; and 
affection, 107 ; for centrally aroused 
sensations, 275. 

Will, in the faculty psychology, 294 ; in 
modern psychology, 294; see Atten- 
tion ; Action, selective and volitional ; 
Reaction, choice. 



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